


Collapsed |Teen Wolf|

by mariefandom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Anchors, Angst, Childhood Trauma, F/M, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Foster Care, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Multi, Muteness, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Orphans, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Liam Dunbar, Protective Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Selectively mute, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Trauma, Trust Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 107,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27753400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariefandom/pseuds/mariefandom
Summary: "I didn't know you had the weight upon your shoulders. I didn't know that you felt like if you stopped, it would be over."When Ronnie Denver is sent to Beacon Hills, it comes as a shock to find that senior Scott McCall and his small group of friends want anything to do with her, especially when a bond starts to form between herself and fellow freshman, Liam Dunbar, but when her battle becomes there's she finds herself thrown into a world where the supernatural is real, and everything she thought was hard is child's play compared to what they go through. With her future on the line, Ronnie has to decide just how far she is willing to let herself go before she can't hold up the weight of everything on her shoulders and she collapses, taking everyone down with her.Inspired by: Collapsed by Natalie TaylorNew chapters every Friday, occasionally Monday
Relationships: Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt, Liam Dunbar/Original Female Character(s), Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Stiles Stilinski/Malia Tate
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings on specific chapters

Ronnie tugged at her sleeves, hiding her palms until only her fingertips showed, her grip tightening on the damp, torn fabric. Her chest tightened with each breath she took, the simple task that should be second nature becoming increasingly difficult. The room wasn’t large and was only getting smaller, suffocating her. She tried to take another breath but not even a squeak came out, her knuckles turning white.

Her nerves had been skyrocketed all day, from the moment she woke up and getting worse as the day went on. She knew not to chew on her sweater, one of the few clothes that were still in exceptional condition, but the fabric between her teeth was the only factor preventing her from screaming until her throat bled. The lack of oxygen didn’t help much, preventing her from thinking coherently, if at all.

The first was always the worst. First of the month, first change of living arrangements, first day of a new school. One would assume that after so long, she would have gotten used to the constant new, the constant unknown, but there was always something about the new and unknown that terrified her.

Twelve years, and still the young teenager couldn’t stand the thirty minutes spent in the principal’s office. She didn’t mind sitting in silence, barely listening as her social worker explained the long list of issues she had. No one ever asked for her to speak, and she preferred it that way. The less she said, the more people kept away and less she got attached. It was safer for everyone, but most importantly it kept her sane. Less to lose when no one wanted her anymore.

It had come to the point where she could list all her issues, starting with biggest problem to mild inconvenience. Principal Martin seemed to be finding it hard to believe that the small, 5’1” girl who hadn’t looked away from a scratch on the desk, could possibly have such a bad reputation, but the signed note from her old probation officer seemed to make things quite clear. Her eyes widened as she read on, looking up only to stare at the girl, flickering back to the social worker as if to confirm that what she was reading was true.

There was a familiar look in the older woman’s eyes, one that Ronnie had seen more times than she cared to admit. She never was ashamed of the time spent in juvie, even if they were darker days that she would gladly forget. It kept people away when they knew what she had done, it kept her safe from them and them safe from her. However, it was times like this, when an adult stared at her as if they expected her to pull out a gun and shoot everyone in the room and then herself, that made her wish she were invisible.

Mr Parker named off the last few things without blinking an eye, fully aware of the look the principal had and how it affected the young girl, but he never said a thing. She wasn’t the first to react in such a way, and she surely wouldn’t be the last. The placement in Beacon Hills would be temporary, maybe a month but likely less, and they would move on to a new school where the principal would fail to mask that horrified expression.

Principal Martin managed to pull herself together as the last thing was named, and she replied as professionally as she could, going on as if she weren’t terrified of the child sitting across from her mere seconds ago. Her eyes would glance back to the girl, linger a few seconds with that same look of fear, but nothing too obvious that a normal teenager would notice.

It should have been made clear that Ronnie certainly wasn’t normal, and while her eyes remained low and refused to meet anyone’s, didn’t mean that she couldn’t see the fear as clear as day.

“Anything you would like to add, Miss Denver?” Mr Parker’s voice was deep, not something unpleasant to listen to, but for Ronnie it always made her cringe. She knew one day he would speak to her in that tone she learned well. One that was filled with disappointment. Every time he opened his mouth she expected to hear it, but he only ever spoke softly to her, just as he had done since she was a kid.

She knew he expected her to ask what they had talked about earlier. He had complimented her a week ago now for doing much better at simple social interactions. Sitting there in the room now, she felt as if she had failed him as she shook her head, unable to find the strength to speak. He said nothing about her silence, instead turning back to the principal.

“There is one thing I would like to request.” Principal Martin leaned closer, gesturing for him to continue. “Would it be too much to ask for a student to guide her on her first day? I know most schools have a faculty member handle it if they do at all. Modern schools seem to give their new students a pat on the back and send them on their way, but I wouldn’t want Miss Denver to miss class because she lost her way. History has proven that it only leads to more stress on the children, and we wouldn’t want that, would we Mrs Martin?”

“No problem at all.” Principal Martin looked wearily in Ronnie’s direction, unable to see how she relaxed after hearing Mr Parker’s request. They had spoken about it briefly while waiting to see the principal, but he made it quite clear that he expected her to say something. “You mentioned that… Miss Denver, has a few issues with authority figures?” Mr Parker nodded. “Does that include seniors, or just adults?”

“Miss Denver has had no history conflict with seniors.”

Principal Martin nodded along as if he had cleared up any confusion and pushed her chair away from the desk. She picked up the phone and dialled a number, looking back at the two guests in her office. “I think I may know of one. He has a habit of picking up the… unique students at this school.” Ronnie cringed. The line rang three times and by the fourth, a student answered. “Can you send Scott McCall up to the principal’s office? Have him bring his things, he won’t be returning to class.”

She returned the phone gently with a care that seemed a bit extra, turning back to face Mr Parker and sending a quick —forced— smile to Ronnie who didn’t bother returning it. “Did Mrs Turner, at the front desk, print up her schedule?” Mr Parker nodded curtly. “She’ll miss first period, I’m afraid, but not to worry. If she goes by the class at the end of the day, or during passing period, she can get any assignments she’ll need. I’m afraid that is something she’ll have to do on her own—”

Mr Parker’s jaw clenched, but his voice gave away no emotion. “Miss Denver has issues with authority, not responsibility.”

“Of course.”

Ronnie jumped as a knock came to the door, her knee hitting the table. She had hardly noticed how her leg had started spasming. Her cheeks turned a deep shade of red as she stared with wide eyes at the few knickknacks the principal had now knocked over, some on the floor. Mr Parker sent her a look, one that she had learned to read, despite the lack of emotion he showed, and shook her head in response.

His attention drifted from her, turning to see who Principal Martin had let into the office. He stood to greet the boy who looked awfully nervous standing in the doorway, looking between the two adults with confusion and worry.

* * *

“Scott, this is Mr Anthony Parker.” —Principal Martin stepped aside, giving room for the men to shake hands— “Mr Parker, this is Scott McCall. He’s a senior here, and one of our best-behaved students.”

“Nice to meet you.” Scott said politely, shaking the social worker’s hand with a firm grip. He could see the uneasy look in the man’s dark eyes and, at first, the teen boy was unsure what made him so, but upon taking a deep breath he tensed at the stench that filled the room. It was one he smelt on his best friend often, and his frown only deepened when he spotted the source:

The young girl practically cowered into her seat, knees brought to her chest and arms wrapped tightly around them, knuckles white from holding on to her wrists. She looked deathly pale, barely an ounce of fat on her, not that anyone would be able to notice with the baggy sweater she wore that clashed with the torn, cargo pants and holey sneakers. It was the type of outfit he expected a homeless person to wear, but other than her clothes she looked —and smelled— freshly bathed.

He smiled at her, unsure if she would feel uncomfortable if he were to send her a small wave, but he caught her attention even if that were all he got in return. Her wide eyes reminded him of a panicked animal, the way they darted between the adults in the room —Scott included in that— as if she expected them all to harm her. The fear radiating off her was enough to have the hairs on the back of his neck on edge even if he was aware there was no immediate danger.

“This is Ronda Denver.” Principal Martin gestured toward the girl.

Ronda stood slowly upon seeing a raised brow from Mr Parker. Her sleeves were pulled further down, and her fearful eyes flickered to Scott’s outstretched hand. He kept enough distance between them, his kind eyes seeming to relax her, but it took a nod from Mr Parker for her to take a step forward and, with shaky hands, gingerly take Scott’s. He didn’t shake it or hold it firmly like he was taught, but instead gave it a squeeze and released her.

“She’s a new student here,” —Principal Martin explained, seemingly oblivious to the terrifying state the girl was in— “and Mr Parker has requested for a student to guide her on her first day.”

Scott paid little attention to Principal Martin’s words, his eyes studying the girl who took a step back, away from all the people in the room. He tried not to stare, scared that doing so would only make her anxiety worse, but he couldn’t stop himself from listening, picking up her racing heartbeat. It wasn’t abnormally fast or something concerning, but he expected her to be running a marathon with how fast her heartbeat was.

He stared at his shoes, turning his focus back onto the conversation between Principal Martin and Mr Parker. They were speaking in somewhat hushed voices, clearly not wanting him to overhear anything, but his interests were piqued when he heard “violent” and “foster”. There was nothing specific said, and the weary look Mr Parker sent Scott’s way told him he was the reason. Scott took the hint and moved to stand on the other side of the room, closer to where Ronda stood.

The distance was kept between the two in hopes of making her more comfortable around him. He wasn’t sure what had caused such a fear to sit so heavily on her chest but knew he didn’t want to make it any heavier. “Your name’s Ronda, right?” He asked quietly, frowning when she cringed. She nodded but he could hear the slight jump of her heartbeat confirming what he already suspected. “Is there another name you want me to call you by? A nickname, maybe?”

“Ronnie.” Mr Parker spoke for her. His tone softened as he directed his next words toward her. “You have my number, but I hope you don’t have to use it.” Her lips curled up just the slightest. “If there are any issues,” —he turned to Principal Martin— “feel free to call.”

With a polite nod toward Scott, Mr Parker left the room, closing the door behind him. Scott glanced back to Ronnie, her entire body tensed and her eyes wider, more alarmed as she watched Principal Martin’s every move. The woman took her seat at her desk, writing something down, unaware of the panic setting in on the new student.

Instinctively, Scott took a step forward as if to comfort her but stopped quickly. He got the feeling that she wasn’t like his friends and wouldn’t be too keen on a stranger giving her a hug let alone any touch meant to comfort or not. Neither of them listened to Principal Martin as she explained a few things to them and as soon as she was done speaking, Scott grabbed the girl’s attention. “Ronnie, right? That’s what Mr Parker said you like to be called?”

She pulled her eyes away from the principal, forcing herself to pay attention to Scott and what he had to say. There was still a lot of fear hovering around her and Scott figured it would be difficult to get rid of. “Everyone is in class right now.” Scott said. She nodded slowly, letting him know she heard him. “The halls will be empty. If you want, we could go find your locker before it gets crowded.”

“That’s a great idea, Scott.” Principal Martin’s voice startled Ronnie, and she stood up, gesturing toward the door. “If either of you needs anything, you know where to find me.”  
He said farewell to the principal and opened the door for Ronnie, and when he noticed she hadn’t moved he gestured for her to go first. She didn’t relax once they were out of the office, but as they started to walk down the hall, the stench of fear lessened.

Scott talked about whatever he could come up with, mainly about his first day of school and how his idiot best friend had gotten them in trouble within the first hour. The memory made him smile and when he listened for her heartbeat, he noticed she had relaxed much more than he thought possible. It was still at a speed that concerned him, but he considered the slower, less spastic thump to be a win.

They stopped outside the locker with her number at the top. Scott looked down at the paper she had handed to him when inquired to and confirmed before tapping on the door. “Here you are.” He was shocked to see she hadn’t jumped from the noise or tensed up when he returned the slip to her. She input the number and gave the lock a tug, pulling the door open.

“You’re actually beside a friend of mine. Or… a friend of a friend’s?” He looked to see if she was listening. She hadn’t said a word, not that it mattered much, but it was hard to tell if she was even hearing anything he said. He continued regardless. “Mason is pretty cool, is what I’m trying to say.”

* * *

Ronnie glanced up at him, a confused look on her face but she said nothing. There were many thoughts going on inside her head, most which would remain for her to ponder, if not all. Scott seemed friendly enough, and he hadn’t abandoned her in the silence, which was much appreciated, but she doubted they would ever see each other again. He was a senior, after all, and as kind as he was being, no one ever stuck around to get to know the shy, new girl.

The bell rang, the noise startling her. She had made the mistake of getting lost in thought, unaware of Scott’s worried glance. Her jumpiness was something that she had gotten used to and rarely caused her to think much of, nor did her racing heart that never seemed to calm. Doctors always enjoyed pointing it out, most of them referring her to a cardiologist who then suggested seeing a therapist and seeking medication.

No foster family ever had the time of day to get her to either. She was only there for tax benefits and nothing more, a fact that multiple families had told her by now. The noise was devastating to a nine-year-old longing for a place to call home, but Ronnie grew numb to the pain and moved on. There was no point in dwelling over something that she would never have. She had enough issues as it was, she didn’t need to add more on.

“Do you know what your second-period class is?” Scott asked. The question caught her off-guard, as did almost every time he spoke to her. She swung her plain, torn, black backpack to her front and pulled out an already crinkled piece of paper. His hands felt warm against her ice-cold ones and the way he reacted told her it worried him. He made no comment about it, thankfully.

“English with Mr Burk…” He read aloud. “I’ve had him before, he’s pretty laidback.”

She liked the sound of that.

The halls were crowding fast and Ronnie’s entire body went rigged, eyes darting from student to teacher, to even the janitor that strolled past, her heart running faster and faster until her back collided with metal, the locker and Scott the only thing preventing her from falling. His hand caught her just before she could, his gentle touch keeping her on her feet and thoughts grounded. She tried not to focus on his hand closed around her wrist, the way he held on to it, the memories that came with the feeling, the bruises that had littered her skin many times.

His voice sounded far away when he spoke, the world blurring as she felt unable to breathe. She knew she needed to, that hyperventilating wasn’t going to help in any way, but she was incapable of taking a breath. He let go of her wrist, but the memories had come back full force, the pain, the fear, all fresh in her mind. The door clicked shut, locking her in, the lights dimming until she was left in the pitch black, her throat sore from screaming for hours on end.

“Ronnie!”

It always hurt, crashing back down into reality. She gasped for breath, coughing a bit as if she had just been held underwater. That memory was another she would prefer not to revisit. Scott had pulled her into an empty classroom, she realized. There was a teacher, an older man with a kind face but not one that she would find comfort in.

She looked around more, ignoring that she now sat on the floor, her knees pressed against her chest and nails digging into her arms, the sweater preventing her from cutting the skin. Scott kneeled in front of her, one hand on her shoulder, his dark eyes filled with worry. The bell rang above them, the noise painfully loud in the quiet classroom. Ronnie jumped, her eyes wide and alert, darting between the adult and senior in the room, neither of them saying anything but clearly worried.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked quietly as if he feared his voice would startle her. It just might have if she hadn’t been so aware of everything. If she hadn’t seen his mouth open and close a few times as he debated whether to speak. She forced herself to nod, taking deep breaths to calm her racing heart. “Do you need anything?” He sounded far too worried for a boy who just met her, and while he sounded genuine, she shook her head.

What could he do? Nothing. Ronnie knew that, just like she knew that after today she would never hear from Scott, even if he showed her kindness. She pushed herself onto her shaky legs, trying to ignore the other presence in the room as she collected herself. This wasn’t anything new when it came to first days, and every time before she had dealt with it alone, just like she always would.

“If you need a minute, I can write you both a note.” The teacher said, drawing her attention toward him.

Scott waited for her to give him a sign, and once she shook her head she could see he wasn’t sure to believe her. “We’ll be okay.” He said, never looking away from her, ready to catch her if she were to fall again. “Thank you, Mr Yukimura.”

He walked with her out of the class and into the slightly less crowded hallway. Most students had made their way to class, others still stood in the hall waiting to be let in, and a few were obviously not planning on arriving on time, or at all. Ronnie envied them, but it had been made quite clear what would happen if she ditched class. She couldn’t risk it, especially now that she was sixteen. No one wanted to foster a teenager, and certainly not a troubled one.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Scott asked once they stood outside her next class. The teacher glanced in their direction, his grey hair and soft eyes not nearly as intimidating as most, but he still left her feeling uneasy. She looked Scott in the eyes, realizing he was harder to lie to than most, but nodding confidently despite the nauseous feeling in her stomach. “I’ll meet you by your locker after class, if that’s alright with you.”

She nodded again. He was a good kid, and kinder to her than any friend she had ever made, but nothing ever lasted. Not even the gentle hand on her shoulder as he gave it a squeeze, a look in his eyes that told her he meant what he said. She knew better than to believe him, to trust what he said, but found herself wanting to. Craving to have someone —anyone— to help hold her up when she wanted to fall.

Mr Burk smiled kindly at her when she walked in, introducing himself and her to the class before sending her to her new seat. She set down her backpack and stared blankly at the board, pretending to listen as the world suffocated her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Anxiety, panic attacks, minor mention of abuse/trauma


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for warnings on specific chapters

“Don’t forget to do the reading!” Mrs Stein called out.

The students were already packed up five minutes before the bell rang, and the moment that ear-piercing noise rang through the air, they were bolting out of the class, eager to get out, more so than they were the last class or the one prior to that. Ronnie assumed it had something to do with lunch period, slightly confused as to why that was such an exciting time but never bothering to question it.

She didn’t mind being the last one in class. If anything, she preferred it that way. There was no one there to speak to her, no one to stare at her while they whisper to the person on their right. The room was quiet, not the unbearable kind, but the one that she feared wouldn’t last. It never did, but she had learned to appreciate the passing moments of peace no matter how brief they were.

Packing up had become a mindless task, one that she spent lost in thought or staring off blankly. She had found fidgeting with the borrowed pencil, twisting it between her fingers, to be soothing as she slipped the heavy textbook into her backpack that could hardly hold the weight. The material had been falling apart for years now, but Ronnie didn’t have the money to replace it and knew better than to ask. “Pick your battles,” she used to hear. A new backpack wasn’t one worthy of fighting.

Mrs Stein said something as she walked out, but the young girl barely heard her, pretending to acknowledge what she said with a smile and a nod. The adult seemed pleased, returning to the work on her desk, oblivious to the far off look on Ronnie’s face. That was one thing admirable about teachers, even adults. They never noticed how troubled someone was, too busy drowning in their own issues. Some days, Ronnie wished teenagers could be the same way.

Just as promised, Scott waited on the opposite end of the hall, lost in conversation with another girl but waiting all the same. Ronnie was both shocked and relieved to see him there. He told her he would be, and he was proving to mean what he said, but it still caught her by surprise, just like it had the last two classes.

It wouldn’t last. She had to remember that. Even if Scott acknowledged her the next day, even if he continued to be the kind boy she had gotten to know, she had to know it wasn’t going to last. Nothing ever did, nothing ever would, and certainly not this. Beacon Hills was all temporary, something that could be taken away in the blink of an eye. That pain was one she had felt far too many times before and refused to let herself be hurt by that again.

Would it hurt to pretend this was permanent? For one day, would she regret letting herself believe that this could be her life? She always wondered what it would be like to have friends, to meet up with them after class, to complain about the boring lecture in history class, even talk about the drama that happened. This wouldn’t last, but why couldn’t she pretend for one day that this all could be her life, even if she would be sent away again in a month, if not less.

She hated herself for even being tempted. That wasn’t her life, would never be her life, and no matter how much she dreamed of it she could never have it. Letting herself believe otherwise was cruel and not the kind of pain she needed. If she weren’t too careful, if she let herself dream too much she knew that when it was time to leave she wouldn’t survive. Maybe not this time, or in this town, but it would happen.

Two years and she would be free, have total control of her life without the outside forces threatening to take everything away from her if she made one wrong move. She needed to survive until then and dreaming of a life not meant for her wasn’t something that would help.

Scott turned away from his conversation to wave, his smile one that Ronnie imagined would be meant for a close friend. She shook her head, desperately trying to get her thoughts clear. They weren’t friends and never could be. There was no point imagining otherwise, not even for a day. As soon as the final bell rang, and she was sent back to the house, no friendly face would protect her from reality.

Her racing heart had become background noise, something that she had grown accustomed to throughout her life. She wasn’t sure if there had ever been a time it calmed, only ever speeding up or returning to the same rapid thumping. When she slept, maybe, although most of her dreams left her feeling more tired than rested and her heart proceeded to race the moment she shot up covered in sweat and tears.

The hall didn’t feel nearly as suffocating anymore, not that her thoughts were any clearer this time around. She shouldn’t rethink times from her past, especially ones that made her chest ache, but she was a glutton for pain. Always had been it seemed. The smile on Scott’s face certainly didn’t help, and when she finally approached him she noticed how that same worry in his eyes she had seen that morning was still there. Not nearly as prominent as it had been, but she could see it clearly.

“Hey!” He sounded cheerful, as if he was genuinely happy to see her. It was a strange thought to have, and one that she refused to ponder on longer than necessary. She smiled, and his furrowed brows and slight frown told her he knew it was forced, but his frown only lasted a second before the same, bright smile returned.

“You must be Ronnie.” The girl beside him greeted, a similar smile on her face. Ronnie found it confusing, unsure why two strangers —who were seniors while she was a mere freshman— would greet her as if she were one of their friends. “I’m Kira.” She offered her hand which Ronnie stared at as if it would come out and slap her, but she managed to work up the courage and shake it, quickly retracting her hand when she was finally released.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Kira said, her eyes looking to Scott with a slightly confused look.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, the action catching Ronnie’s attention. They were a couple, something that she should have been able to guess from the way they spoke to each other or how Scott stared at her. Ronnie knew little about romance, not even caring to read about it since it was something she wouldn’t have —why long for something impossible to obtain? She had witnessed a few couples in different homes and the occasional teenage fling, but nothing healthy or worthy of her attention.

Ronnie took a step back, anxious to get out of the building and find a place to hide for 45 minutes. Lunchtime was one of her least favourite periods —the other one being class on the first day— and she wasn’t entirely sure why Scott insisted on meeting up when they would go their separate ways.

She vaguely remembered him talking about what he would be doing: running through a few drills while the field is open. Beacon Hills was a strange town, but she enjoyed the lack of typical sports. Lacrosse wasn’t rare, but not entirely heard of either. The strange sport had interested her when Scott first mentioned it, and if she actually found her voice she would have asked about it, but even when she found herself wanting to speak her throat refused to let any noise come out.

“We were going to head out to the field, but I wanted to know if you wanted to join us.” Scott had a wishful twinkle in his eyes as if her wanting to join was important to him. She shook the wish out of her head, sternly reminding herself not to think like that. “A few students sit on the bleachers and eat lunch there so you wouldn’t be alone if you don’t want to be.”

“And our friends will be over there, if you wanted to sit with them.” Kira added. “You could even join… if you wanted to. It’s just gonna be a few players. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you wanted to play.”

The offer was tempting, as much as Ronnie hated to admit it. She had nothing to eat and wasn’t exactly hungry, so for over half an hour, she would people watch, maybe even draw if she had a notebook or pencil. Not exactly entertaining but better than nothing.

Her fingers halted from playing with the pencil in her hand, suddenly aware that she never fully stopped the nervous habit. She shook her head, sending a smile to Kira to let her know the offer was appreciated, and went to hand the pencil back to Scott. “Keep it.” He said. “I have plenty, anyways, and you still need it for your other classes.”

“You’ll at least sit out there, right?” Kira asked hopefully. “No pressure to talk to anyone, or anything like that, just so you don’t have to be alone.”

“Only if you want.” Scott added.

Ronnie caved, trying not to smile when Scott slightly cheered at her answer.

* * *

Liam slammed his locker shut, the noise startling both himself and his best friend who sent him a concerned look. He could already hear what Mason would say, starting with the long list of reasons why getting angry over this was pointless, then lecturing him over how risky it was. There weren’t many people around at the moment, most of them already off eating lunch somewhere far away from classes, but enough to cause an issue if they saw the way his baby blue eyes flickered to a shade of gold and back, or the claws that were now digging into his palm, cutting through the skin.

“It’s one test.” Mason said, stating the obvious and managing to aggravate Liam more. “She said you could retake it—”

One test? The thought made him sinisterly chuckle. He had struggled enough with the school year, practically failing every single class he had. His parents were worried, even mentioned taking him back to therapy if he didn’t explain to them what was going on. How does one tell his parents the reason he ditched most of his classes was because of these doctors that were creating supernatural beings, which he himself is one? Not exactly the easiest thing to explain or comprehend.

This “one test” was worth 80% of his grade and a determining factor on whether he would pass the class. His attendance was already an issue and not getting much better with a few months left of school. He didn’t have time to get his grades up and save the town. The pressure was crippling, and he admired Scott more and more for it. How did the senior have time for all of it while staying sane and having a healthy relationship?

“I hate history.” Liam growled lowly. His eyes cast down, staring at the blood that trickled down his wrist. He didn’t feel the urge to kill anyone —more than usual— which was a relatively good sign.

He needed to breathe, to get control, but he couldn’t find himself able to take a breath let alone think coherently. His fist itched to collide with anything, something to distract him from the growing frustration in his body threatening to make him explode. There would be an awful dent that wouldn’t be easy to explain, but even that thought didn’t keep him from closing his fists tighter, knuckles turning white as he tried to hold back from lashing out on everything.

“The sun,” He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut and trying to concentrate on breathing and the mantra meant to help him remain in control. “The moon,” His claws retracted, the skin on his palms healing, hiding the evidence that he had ever harmed himself, the drying blood the only proof left. “The truth.”

“You okay, man?” Mason asked carefully.

“I’m fine.” Liam lied, quite literally, through his teeth. He didn’t want to worry anyone about his own issues. His anger was a problem he had to deal with on his own, not for anyone else to be burdened with. “I told Scott I’d run a few drills with him and Kira.” He pushed himself out of his thoughts, focusing as hard as he could on anything other than the burning anger inside him. “Are you going to sit out there with us?”

“Duh.” Mason said a little too quickly. Liam raised a brow, fully aware that his best friend agreeing to watch had nothing to do with them being friends. “Not because anyone is going to be shirtless, or anything like that…”

“Whatever you say.” Liam teased, managing a smile that felt real even if he knew it wasn’t.

* * *

Scott looked over his shoulder, spotting the young beta as he walked side by side with Mason, the two of them consumed in conversation and hardly aware of the senior watching them. He tried to get their attention, failing as they were clearly too consumed in some alternate universe or purposefully ignoring him. The latter was unlikely, but not impossible.  
He gave up trying to get the two freshmen to spot him and turned back to Kira and Ronnie, smiling fondly as he listened to his girlfriend explain the basics of lacrosse. Ronnie wasn’t as guarded as she had been in the office that morning, but her heartbeat never fully calmed from the constant erratic state. It was as if she was stuck on this constant loop of fight or flight responses, never believing that she was safe.

“Make sense?” Kira asked, glancing over at the girl who nodded slowly. Scott shook his head in amusement, trying not to laugh at how enthusiastically cute he thought Kira was being. He had been hopeful that her presence would help Ronnie relax a bit more, thankful that it didn’t make her tenser —though, at first, it wasn’t looking so promising.

Ronnie had said nothing, not even making a noise, and the only way Scott managed to get anything from her was with yes or no questions. He didn’t mind the lack of communication on her part, but it hurt him to think that something might have made her go mute. She wasn’t incapable of speaking, that much he knew, but she chose not to. Kira seemed to be having better luck getting her involved in the conversation, and he believed it had a lot to do with how easy she was to be around.

It made him smile to see Ronnie slightly more relaxed even if her heart continued to race. She looked more alive outside, watching as Kira tried to show off one of the manoeuvres she was extremely proud of, a dim light in her eyes that started to brighten. He wanted to know what had gone on in her life to make her so closed off, so dark and fearful, but mainly he just wanted to be able to make the pain go away. Whatever was on her mind, whatever kept her from smiling or from talking, he wanted to make it go far away and never come back.

His fists had clenched around the railing pole that bent from the force of Scott’s burst of anger. They had become more frequent, each one catching him by surprise, but this one he at least understands one of the causes of it. He pushed himself away from the metal and walked over to Kira, smiling as she did a flip and landed on the lower lever bench on the bleachers. She returned his smile, slightly out of breath but enjoying herself.

“Liam and Mason just got here, so now we’re just waiting on Corey.” He explained to both the girls. Kira hopped down and pecked his lips. “If you want,” —he put his arm around Kira’s waste but directed his words toward Ronnie— “I could introduce you to them. They’re both freshmen, like you, and it might be nice to know someone your age.” He scratched the back of his neck and quickly added, “Only if you want. If you don’t feel comfortable, no big deal.”

She looked down at her hands, her sleeves not covering her palms for the first time all day, the sight eliciting a puzzled look on her face. Scott didn’t want to pressure her into making friends, although he didn’t want to see her seating alone all school year. He could tell she wasn’t fond of strangers, and while he knew Liam and Mason were good kids that didn’t mean she would feel comfortable with them around. It didn’t even mean they would get along, especially with how fearful she was, Liam’s anger, and Mason’s energy. Could easily be a recipe for disaster.

“What’s no big deal?” Mason piped in nosily, earning a slightly aggressive nudge and glare from Liam. Scott had no doubt the young beta had managed to pick up on how fast her heart raced, the concerned from on his face confirming that. He glanced worriedly up at Scott, begging him for some form of an answer, frustrating Scott even more that he couldn’t give one. Mason remained oblivious, not gifted with the same super hearing as his werewolf friends.

Ronnie’s heartbeat remained the same speed it had been all lunch period —excluding in the hall when it raced slightly faster— and she didn’t cower away or shut down the moment she looked at them. She looked back at Scott, a curious look in her eyes that made him relax a bit. They didn’t scare her.

“Um,” Scott gestured toward the boys, slightly unsure of how to do this but continuing regardless. “Ronnie, this is Liam and Mason. Guys, this is Ronnie. She’s a new freshman that I’ve been showing around.”

She gave a shy wave, looking between the freshmen with an alert look. Scott tensed up, eyes widening as Mason moved and took a seat in front of her, looking up at the girl who sat on the second level bench. “Please tell me you aren’t a lacrosse player. I could use some friends who don’t ditch me to go kill each other on a field.”

Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something and Scott watched curiously as she took her lower lip between her teeth, chewing on it as she shook her head. He looked over his shoulder to Liam, a slight nod with his head letting the beta know to go tame his best friend. Liam’s eyes flickered back to Ronnie with that same worried look that Scott had no doubt was mirrored in his own eyes.

Liam cautiously took a seat beside Mason and elbowed him gently. “We’re gonna go practice.” He said, his words directed toward Ronnie. “If he gets on your nerves, let us know.”  
“Hey!” Mason cried, glaring at his friend who gave him a look that seemed to say everything. “Fine, as long as you gently kick my ass. It’s one of my best features.”  
“You sure about that?” Liam raised a brow, falling to the ground as Mason shoved him off the seat. “You could’ve just told me to move.”

“Guys, we only have thirty minutes and Corey is already on the field waiting for us.” Kira said, earning a thankful nod from Scott.

Kira dragged Liam out onto the field, Scott not too far behind, only staying to meet Ronnie’s eyes. “Do you still want me to walk you to your next class afterwards?” He waited, smiling when he saw her nod slowly. “I’ll meet you over here when the bell rings, okay?” Another nod.

He sent Mason a similar look that Liam gave, one that told him to behave and not scare off the girl who was already skittish enough. Ronnie didn’t seem tense with him there, and Mason found it easy to fall into conversation with her as the others practised, Scott managing to hear him talking about how stupidly hot his boyfriend is but that she could never repeat that to anyone. She seemed far more relaxed than he thought possible, and Scott felt better knowing that it was possible for her to smile, grinning when he saw her silently laugh at something Mason said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Minor language


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for warnings on specific chapters

Ronnie stared at the large, cherry front door. She stared at the matching cherry windows, at the white sliding. It was, by definition, the picture-perfect suburban home that one only ever dreamed of living in. With the front yard garden, flowers still in bloom despite the weather getting colder, and the dirt-free driveway. The silver Tesla shined in the garage that had a few bins, nothing too messy or full of clutter, unlike most normal garages.

She stood on the sidewalk, fingers gripped tightly on the strap over her shoulder, clutching on to it as if it were her lifeline. In some ways, one could argue it was. There weren't a lot foster children owned, and what they did never lasted, either broken or taken by outside forces. Everything she owned was in that backpack, and considering how featherlight it was, she didn't own much.

Being a child born into the system, she didn't have much to begin with. The clothes on her back and the golden necklace she never took off was all she ever needed, a lesson she learned quickly in life. There was no point in getting sentimental about anything when anyone could take it from her. Her life never belonged to her, and with it her things, so what was the point?

Standing outside the gate that kept the rest of the world from disrupting the perfect life those who lived there led, Ronnie knew she didn't belong beyond that point. That life was one she read about or saw on tv many times, and always knew, deep down, she could never have it. Her life didn't work that way. She would never be lucky enough to find herself in a position where she could look up at a house like that and think "forever" instead of "temporary".

Nothing could stop her from walking down the road, far away from the family who owned her life and the town that had been nothing but welcoming to her. It wouldn't be the first time she left, nor would it be the last. They would send her away soon anyway, that much was inevitable. What was the point in sticking around when nothing around her would last?

She wanted so desperately to believe that was the reason. That this time around was the same as the other dozens of times she had booked it. They weren't going to keep her, and if it weren't for the tax benefits, no one would ever have taken her into their homes. There was no point in admitting the truth was far more complicated than that, especially not when that could have catastrophic effects on her mind.

Her grip around the strap tightened, and with a slight nod, she started the trek away from the house, not bothering to think twice about her decision. There was only so much she had any control over, and her life wasn't even on the list, but she could run away without anyone stopping her. The cops would find her eventually, her social worker would take her to a new home, and the process would repeat all over again, but if she was lucky —which she hardly ever was— it would be far away from Beacon Hills.

There weren't a lot of times where she could fully relax, not even in that moment, watching the sun disappear into the horizon, but that didn't stop her from stopping and taking in the cute little town she would soon be leaving. The sunset was stunning where she stood, leaning against a tall tree in a small park. She admired how the light bled through the leaves of the other trees and how the shadows danced on the grass that swayed in the wind. Little details that didn't get enough notice when they were just as beautiful as the rest.

The town had its charm, she had learned in the two days she had been there. It was small enough that everyone knew everybody, but not crowded or suffocating. She had witnessed co-workers bumping into each other while out at dinner, a mechanic and old customer bounding over the beautiful state the old customer's truck was in.

Even at the park, she watched an elderly woman greet a young boy around ten who stared up at the woman with adoration. She ruffled his hair, his giggle travelling to Ronnie's ears by the wind, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. From the boy's grin and the woman's laugh, she knew the two knew each other well, but they weren't related. The boy showed her his baseball and glove, letting her hold it and instructing her on the proper way causing the elderly woman to smile.

Ronnie watched as they played catch, the boy very patient with the woman who managed to catch the ball twice, even worse at throwing it back, but the two were clearly having fun. She stayed there as the sun disappeared and the park got dark, the streetlamps flickering on and providing just enough light for the elderly woman and boy to continue playing. The scene played out like something from a movie, and Ronnie, standing off to the side, was the character no one ever heard about.

She tried to shake away the pain that had nestled into her chest, remind herself that there was no point being envious of such a thing. That kind of life wasn't meant for her, she tried to convince herself. If she were to ever live in it, she had no doubt she would be bored within a week, wishing that Mr Parker —or any social worker, for that matter— would come to take her far away.

"Isn't it a bit late to be at the park?"

The voice caused her to jump away from the tree, spinning to face the boy who had startled her. She recognized him. He was one of Scott's friends, but the name was unplaceable. Scott had introduced them to each other during lunch before they had run off to practice lacrosse. The scene was still fresh in her mind, as was most of the first day at Beacon Hills High. She hadn't stopped thinking about it all, especially after the boy —Mason— took the seat beside her on the bus, continuing to talk to her as if they were great friends.

It had all been too new, but even worse, she didn't hate it. For the first time in a long time, Ronnie felt welcomed and wanted in a town, and that feeling terrified her to the point that she decided there needed to be as much distance between herself and the town as possible. She couldn't let herself get attached, long to stay, or want to form any kind of relationship with anyone. That would only get her hurt, and she feared that she wouldn't survive long enough if she were to give in to everything she wanted.

"Ronnie, right?" The boy asked as if he was merely refreshing his memory, unaware that him remembering her name was just as surprised as him wanting to talk to her. "Scott's new friend?" She stared at him with wide eyes, specifically at his choice of words, but she shrugged that off, convincing herself it was because of lack of other words. "I'm Liam. You probably don't remember me. We met briefly during lunch."

 _Liam_. She wasn't sure she could forget anyone she had met that day. Scott seemed to have made it his job to introduce her to everyone he knew, even his best friend Stiles who he was more on the fence about. He explained to her there was nothing wrong about Stiles, but some people think he is difficult to handle. After Mason walked with them to her last class, he decided it would be okay. If she could handle Mason's high-energy, he was confident Stiles wouldn't be too bad, and other than the immediate hug he gave her, he wasn't.

She nodded, hoping that the boy would understand she remembered him. He didn't say anything to her, unlike his friends, but she had caught his worried glances throughout the day. They weren't all too different from Scott's, but in some ways more intense. As if, unlike Scott, he didn't bother much in hiding it. Mason talked about him a lot, she remembered.

He would go on and on about his best friend, sometimes forgetting that he was talking to a stranger. She tried not to think too much about everything that went on that day, but Mason certainly was a peculiar case. It was easy to open to people you don't know and never expect to see again, so she convinced herself that was what it was. Mason needed an ear to listen to him but nothing more. That made more sense than anything else she could come up with.

"Are you waiting for someone, or just hanging out?" Liam asked, seeming to be genuinely curious, not like the nosey people she had encountered many times in life. When she gave no answer, something seemed to dawn on him. "Sorry. Mason mentioned you don't really talk." — _Why would Mason mention me?_ — "Let me try again: are you waiting for someone?"

The question still had her confused, and while the boy's calming blue eyes were almost enough to make her trust him, excluding the intensity of his stare, and while he stood a few inches taller than her, his muscular figure made her want to cower away. Still, she shook her head.

_No._

"Just enjoying the night then?"

_Yes._

"I don't blame you." He said, looking out toward the sky with a soft smile. His brows furrowed slightly, the same look of worry flashing through his eyes, but he managed to hide it this time. "No one ever really comes to this park." He glanced over at her. "There isn't any playground equipment, only grass and dirt. I guess that's not good enough for anyone anymore."

She frowned, thinking about how neglected it must feel. Stupid, she knew, but a thought that crossed her mind regardless. People may never have a relationship with her —she would never let them get that close— but inanimate objects such as a park or building would earn her sympathy. She could relate to them more than others, understood how it felt to be alone and unnoticed. It was something she would never wish upon anyone.

Why are you talking to me? She wanted so desperately to ask him that, but her throat closed at the thought of speaking, so she sighed and followed his gaze out to the sky. It really was beautiful and something she may find herself missing when she leaves, and she almost cursed herself out right there just for that. This town would never be her home and the sooner she remembered that the better.

* * *

The soft buzz from Liam's phone broke the peaceful silence that had surrounded them, the quiet noise enough to earn a jump from Ronnie. He frowned at her racing heart, trying not to listen too much on the beat but finding it almost impossible. Was that normal, for someone to be that on edge all the time? He'd have to ask his stepdad later, but for now, he gently pulled his phone out and checked the new notification.

**> >>We got a lane. Where are you?**

**< <<Be there soon.**

He returned his phone, his eyes meeting Ronnie's. She didn't look as startled anymore, not that he would ever be able to tell. "That was Mason." He told her, not entirely sure why in the first place. "We're meeting up at the bowling alley down the street." She nodded, what he assumed was her letting him know she was listening. He ran a hand through his hair, nervously scratching at his neck, another reason he would never know of. This was likely entirely pointless, but he did it anyway. "Would you want to come?"

If her eyes were wide before, they were going to pop out of their sockets now. She looked at him as if he were crazy, which some could argue he was, not that she needed to know that. He still didn't know what he was doing. This girl hardly knew him, and while Mason had talked her ear off almost all day, that didn't mean she knew either of them or would want anything to do with them. Liam hardly wanted to be around them sometimes, and he was half of the problem.

Another text came through, but this time the noise didn't cause her to jump. He wanted to take it back, ask that she forget he ever said anything to begin with, but he didn't. Scott had asked that they try to get to know her a bit, make her feel welcome, and it was clear that wasn't going to be an easy task, but Liam was starting to realize he really wanted her heartbeat to settle. Was that how Scott felt when he first heard it?

She shook her head, her hair slightly falling in her face before she looked back up at him, the confusion evident on her face. He wasn't sure how to clarify anything since he thought his question was rather clear, but she seemed to think otherwise. "Mason is bringing his boyfriend, Corey, and as much as I love Mason, he kinda forgets I'm there sometimes." Not a lie, just holding back a few truths. Was that bad? "And if you aren't busy doing anything now, and wanted to come, you can. I mean, obviously, you can, but I mean you can join us if you want."

Her eyes lit up with amusement, a slight smile tugging at her lips but nothing came of it. She bit her bottom lip, lost in thought long enough for Liam to get antsy, fidgeting with the strings on his hoodie and trying not to anxiously pace. He almost let out a very verbal sigh when she slowly nodded, meeting his eyes with a hint of curiosity twinkling in hers.

The bowling alley was quiet that night, as it had been most nights for a while. It was one of the things Liam liked about it. Hardly anyone ever went there anymore, other than the occasional teens who snuck out for a date, Mason and Corey included. Liam used to go there with his mom, back when she wasn't overwhelmed with shifts and college classes. He missed those days, but he enjoyed hanging out with Mason, even if Corey were involved and he would be forgotten half an hour after arriving.

Liam pushed open the door, holding it for Ronnie to slip inside. She didn't understand what he was doing, or distracted by something, and it wasn't until he gestured her inside that she realized. He tried not to think too much about it, although it did cause him to wonder quite a lot about her while he got them shoes, feeling bad for asking her what shoe size she was considering she never spoke, but she managed just fine with her fingers and the two went off to find Mason and Corey.

They were near the far end of the alley, lost in conversation and oblivious to the new company as they took a seat at the table. Mason looked in their direction first, a clear look of pleasant surprise on his face, and he didn't bother covering it up as he shook Corey's arm and pointed in their direction. Liam tried to ignore the want to listen in, focusing on Ronnie and the look of wonder that had consumed her usual fearful look.

Her cheeks flushed when she noticed him staring, and he had no doubt his had done the same, and for once he was grateful that she didn't talk much. He pulled on the shoes, frustrated with the difficulty it took to get them on and even more so when it pinched his toes, but the shoes there never fit properly and he didn't want to get a new pair that would end up too big. Ronnie didn't seem to have nearly as much difficulty.

"Hey!" Mason said, sliding into the seat beside Liam who glared at his overly cheery attitude. Ronnie glanced up at him, not too startled by his loud voice, but the way her heartbeat sped up said otherwise. "Good to see you again, Ronnie." She greeted him the same way she had done everyone, a ghost of a smile that didn't look like much but was acknowledgement and considered good enough.

"Mase." Corey muttered, harshly pulling his boyfriend out of the seat with a glare that Liam surely mirrored. "It's nice to see you, Ronnie." He said politely and Liam wondered if he could hear her heartbeat too or was just aware of how tense she looked.

She looked toward Liam, a slight furrow in her brows that he took for a questioning look. "Corey," He said, turning to the man in question, barely catching the realization that flashed across her face. "Do you remember if the sub in Bio is supposed to be here tomorrow, or next week?"

"Next week." Corey said, slightly unsure of his answer but receiving a nod from Mason. "Are either of you hungry? Mason and I got some pizza while we were waiting for you. There is still plenty left."

"Sure, we'll be right there."

Liam didn't want to sound harsh, but he didn't like how fast her heartbeat was and wanted it to return to its somewhat normal beat, even if that didn't make him feel much better. The couple seemed to get the message and walked off, returning to the table in front of them that Liam had purposefully avoided, hoping Ronnie would ease into this. He could tell it was overwhelming for her, but she didn't complain —not that she would since that requires talking.

He finished tying his laces, glancing her way every so often to see if she were doing okay since listening wouldn't help much. She never looked too anxious or uncomfortable, and other than her constantly fast-paced heart, there was nothing that would suggest otherwise. Still, he had to make sure. "If you want to leave at any point, I'd understand."

Ronnie looked down for a moment, her brows furrowing as she thought, and Liam wondered if she would take off right then and there, but when she turned to him with that same slight smile that he had gotten in the park, he relaxed. She shook her head, pushed herself onto her feet, and looked back at him with a slight cock of her head. Let's go, he thought she was saying.

Mason looked more than pleased to have her join them, and even Corey seemed a bit curious. They gave her space, including her in their conversation but trying not to make her the centre of it. She had relaxed quite a bit from when they had arrived, even when Liam had first spotted her in the park. Her heartbeat was still unsettlingly fast, but her eyes were filled with more light, and she held herself differently.

They played for hours, talked even longer, and went through more pizza than they should have —Liam even managed to convince Ronnie to have a slice despite how reluctant she was— only stopping when they realized exactly how late it was: midnight. Mason was the first to notice after getting a text from his parents, asking when he planned on being home and that they were heading to bed. He convinced them to finish their last game, no one even slightly surprised when Ronnie won since she had been kicking their asses all evening.

"Either of you need a ride?" Mason asked once they stepped outside, stealing a quick kiss from his boyfriend who flushed shortly after.

Liam looked to Ronnie, watching her expression careful when she returned his gaze, something they had been doing all night long. She didn't seem to mind how he spoke for her, first looking shocked at how easily he did it, but then turning to him whenever she couldn't give a yes or no answer, and during the last hour, she looked to him even then. He had zero experience with it, talking for someone who either couldn't or chose not to, but he felt somewhat honoured to know she could count on him to do it.

He gave her a questioning look, silently asking if she was sure, and she nodded. "We'll be okay." He told Mason who nodded. "See you tomorrow?"

"Obviously." Mason pulled him into a hug, patting his back. "See you, Ronnie."

"It was nice seeing you." Corey added, his words clearly directed toward her since Liam joins every time and never gets that.

Ronnie lifted her hand in a mock wave, fidgetily adjusting the strap of her backpack. Mason had asked about it, which she obviously gave no reply to other than a shrug, and Corey quickly changed the topic. She reluctantly left it on the chair whenever it was her turn, but she always had a close eye on it, rarely going too far away without bringing it with her. They never brought it up again despite how badly they all wanted to know.

"Where do you live?" Liam asked when it was just the two of them standing under the flickering lamp post. She shook her head, but he noticed it wasn't her saying no, but something else. "Ron..." He said carefully, the new nickname falling from his lips easily. He hadn't even realized he was doing it until Mason pointed it out, but even after that, he wasn't aware. "You shouldn't walk alone this late."

Her expression told him that was exactly what had crossed her mind when she shook her head, but even that wasn't all. He couldn't decide whether he hated how little she spoke or enjoyed it. As they stood in the dark, surrounded by silence, he decided he hated it, at least in that moment. She shook her head again. "Here," Liam said and pulled out his phone, opening the notepad app and handing it to her.

She stared at it as if it would attack her, finally taking it cautiously and blinking hard as she looked down at it. He was in no hurry to get home. With his mom working a double shift and his stepdad working the late one, no one expected him at any specific time. They trusted him enough to know he wouldn't do anything bad, and he never had. Explaining that he walked a friend home after bowling wasn't going to cause any issues.

 _I'll be fine on my own_ , she wrote and handed him back the phone. He read it over with a frown, opened his mouth to speak, but stopped. His fingers moved in a blur before staring down at it and nodding. She didn't hesitate to take it back, eager to know what he had typed, and that same ghost of a smile appeared on her, Liam struggling not to smile just from seeing it.

_I guess I'll just have to follow you then._

If he had ever wondered if she could laugh, he knew now she could. There was no noise of it, just a puff of air that he knew was as closed to a laugh as he could get. She looked up at him, the light from the screen reflecting in her eyes, and upon seeing his boyish grin, she shook her head and turned back to the screen, typing something, and handing it back.

_Stalker much?_

He laughed, the noise startling himself but not her. She stared at him, waiting for a reply that he quickly wrote.

_Only when I have to be._

There was a gentle touch when Ronnie typed her response, one that she seemed to always use, but this time seemed extra careful, as if she wasn't sure about what she was doing or it wasn't something she had done before. She typed as if this were new territory for her, and it occurred to Liam that it quite possibly could be. He knew little about her, but her reaction to pizza and bowling told him those were things she had never done before, the former shocking him more than anything. Who hadn't eaten pizza before?

When she finished she stared at it, pondering a little longer, and hesitantly handing it back. She watched him carefully, her heartbeat speeding up with each passing second that Liam read what she had written. He smiled and the racing thump in her chest settled to her usual speed, and when he looked up at her he noticed just how nervous she looked. His eyes cast back to the message, or specifically the question she seemed to have been wanting to ask all day. One that he wasn't entirely sure how to answer.

_Why are you being nice to me?_

He stared at it a bit longer before settling on something. It wasn't an answer, not entirely anyway, but he hoped whatever it was she was hoping to get would be satisfied with it. She hesitated once more in taking the phone back, looking at it with a fear that he swore never left her alone. Her entire body relaxed the moment she read the message, and while it didn't answer anything, it made that ghost of a smile return, not nearly as invisible as before but still hidden behind what he could only assume was tall, thick walls that weren't going to crumble easily.

_Why not?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language, anxiety, minor self-hate


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for warnings on specific chapters

Ronnie caved. She _let_ herself cave. She wanted to, and even though she knew it would come back to bite her, that she would regret it, she did it anyway. The plan of leaving town was so quickly thrown out the window, all because she gave in to temptation. Because someone who was kind to her, invited her to join them in normal teenlike activities, and she didn’t say no. She didn’t _want_ to, which somehow seemed even worse.

How often in her life had she been invited to go bowling? Never! She needed friends to be invited to something and she always did such a good job keeping people away from her, but in one whole day, everything she worked so hard on, everything that protected her from the world, was torn apart. She was selfish, she let herself be selfish, and now she wanted nothing more than to scream, to curse herself out, to punish herself for being so… so…

_Stupid!_

She leaned against the door, exhaustion hitting her hard. The evening had been nice, maybe even fun. Liam, Mason, and Corey all had been kind to her, even if she didn’t do anything to deserve it. They taught her how to play, a task that was mainly left for Corey since he knew more about the sport than the others. She was included in their conversations, even ones that she felt were personal and something that should only be shared between friends. They even let her eat the food Mason had paid for.

What idiot does things like that? She was a stranger, they didn’t even know her, and yet were treating her as if they had known her all their life. Why? They couldn’t possibly be so different from the other children she had met. Did they want something from her? She couldn’t think of anything she had to offer, or anything that someone would want. Her head throbbed just from going over everything and she wanted to cry out for everything to stop.

_Just stop!_

Her legs grew weak, dropping her to the floor with a sharp thud. She hit her head against the door once, twice, five times until she decided that was enough. The thin piece of wood was the only thing protecting her from the people who had gathered downstairs, and if she wasn’t too quiet they would surely hear her, not that much could be heard over the blaring music that echoed in the bedroom despite being on two separate levels.

It shouldn’t have caught her by surprise when she returned to find her foster family amid a party. They had been throwing one when she first arrived, hardly even acknowledging her outside of the formalities that needed to be gone over. Once Mr Parker left them, the Márquez’s showed her to where she would be staying and disappeared until the next morning.

Both times had proven to be a blessing. She didn’t mind feeling invisible, even preferring it from the ulterior. Those who noticed her only did it for their own gain, just like the families that took her in. If they weren’t getting something in return, they would never do it. Especially not when the child was as troubled as she. All Ronnie ever did was cause problems, add people to a long list of those who hate her, and fuck up everyone’s life.

She awoke drenched in sweat, her body twisted uncomfortably, head still against the door and legs stretched out in front of her. Her entire body ached, and not in a pleasant way, but the pain was welcoming. It was well deserved after last night, after letting herself become so weak, for letting herself relish in being a teen. That was something others got to do, not her. She should have known better.

The overwhelming urge to hurl hit her hard, simultaneously with the spinning world and light head. She placed her palm against her temple, pushing down her nausea. There wasn’t much for her to spit up anyways, and what little she had her body desperately needed to retain. Her breathing returned to normal, her heartbeat not as fast as it had been upon first waking up, and she considered it all good enough.

There was no point trying to close her eyes and get more sleep. The images that had snapped her awake were still fresh in her mind, refusing to fade even after she had been awake for a few hours. She had moved to the bed, not feeling any better when she laid her head on the feather pillow, and she refused to pull the blankets over her shivering body.

Morning would come slowly, just as it did whenever she was plagued by those memories, but she refused to find comfort in things that weren’t hers to use. Laying on the mattress was bad enough, there was no way she was going to curl up in the blankets when she had gone weeks sleeping on wet benches. She didn’t know what it felt like then, and she didn’t want to know now. All that would do is make her want something she can’t have, not even after eighteen when she finds herself on the streets and alone with nowhere to go.

A soft knock on the door told her what time it was, and that Mrs Márquez expected her to wake up. Ronnie didn’t want to. Her body still ached and the sunlight peeking through the blinds did little to warm her. All she would be doing is getting up to go to another place she didn’t belong in. What was the point?

“Ronda, dear!” Mrs Márquez called through the door. Her accent was too nice, too warm and welcoming for Ronnie’s liking. She cringed at the use of her name, glaring daggers through the door, aware that no one else could see them. Was it too much to ask to be left alone? “The bus will be here in fifteen. If you’re quick there is breakfast downstairs, and Isaac made you some lunch. I hope you like PB&J.”

She didn’t, but who would know that? No one could ever suspect that a girl as starved as she would deny something as loved as a PB&J. Why would they? They didn’t know how much she despised hearing about the delectable sandwich, or how kids would always talk about how they received little notes written on the bags of their sandwiches.

When twelve-year-old Ronnie first got her hands on a sandwich, taken from the depths of the school bins, she was disappointed to learn that was all it was. A sandwich. Not something rumoured to be made with love or with a note about how special she was. It was just a boring piece of bread, peanut butter, and jelly. She ate it, too starved to care how disgusting it tasted, and was sent home after throwing up during recess.

The lunch had been placed in a brown paper bag in the corner of the kitchen, easily missed if one weren’t looking, which was exactly the argument Ronnie would give when the Márquez’s questioned why she hadn’t brought it. She surveyed the house and grabbed a pen and paper to jot down how she had left for the bus stop and would see them after, just as they requested she does if they weren’t available before she left. Once it was all settled, she bolted out the door.

She had never been a huge fan when it came to school, and with how welcoming and kind everyone had been the day before, Ronnie found herself despising it more than ever before. Why couldn’t they send her away already? Past families grew tired of her so quickly, but not the Márquez’s. They were so genuine in their kindest that it was sickening. What was she doing wrong? Was she being too well-behaved? If she broke something valuable, would that tip the iceberg?

A familiar face caught her attention when she got on the bus, and a terrible feeling of relief washed over her. She wanted to smack herself for acting this way, but when the friendly boy looked excited to see her and waved her over, she couldn’t find the strength to push him away. Mason didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. He had been nothing but kind to her, even if she didn’t deserve it, and she didn’t want to hurt him because of her own self-preservation.

He scooted over, enthusiastically patting the seat beside him. She hesitated at first, but the grin on his face made her feel guilty for even thinking about sitting somewhere else, so she sucked it up and took the seat, setting her backpack on her lap. “Funny seeing you here.” He teased, elbowing her in a playful manner. It caught her off guard, as did most things that had happened in Beacon Hills, but he didn’t notice, and if he did, he said nothing of it. “Ready for day number two of hell?”

That almost brought a smile to her face, something that he seemed to be skilled at doing. It had unsettled her when he first managed to get a slight laugh from her, the ability something she didn’t even know she was capable of. Mason prided himself over it, even bragged to Scott about it later in the day when they were walking to their last class that he happened to have with her.

It was strange how easy it was to be around the people of Beacon Hills. They were extremely nice, uncomfortably so, and those who had taken the time to welcome her had no problems with her lack of communication. Most people were deterred by that, even the most persistent ones eventually got annoyed, yet that didn’t seem to work with the people there. She couldn’t even begin to describe how surprised she was to see Liam find a way for them to communicate, especially when he started to use it as well, not bothering with his own voice when they simply typed responses to each other.

She tried not to think about the walk back to the Márquez’s house, specifically how pleasant it had been. Liam walked with her despite her constant reassurance that she would be fine. It was thanks to him and his friends that she was even returning there, though the temptation to run off still sounded appealing. For some reason, she couldn’t find it in her to disappear anymore. She didn’t want to hurt anyone by doing so, and Liam had managed to make it clear that he —stupidly— cared for her, for reasons she would never understand. The two hardly even knew each other, and there wasn’t much about her worth caring about. Still, he cared.

With Mason going on about one of his many stresses in life —there were apparently quite a lot— it wasn’t hard to distract herself. He had found himself venting to Ronnie about Corey’s upcoming birthday and how he had no clue what to do for it, but nothing he could come up with was good enough. She was amused by how much he clearly cared for the other boy, something she had noticed the night before. The two were constantly in their own little world, oblivious to everyone around him, and even when Corey went off to do something on his own, Mason hardly looked away.

“—but he hates big surprises, so that wouldn’t work.” Mason slumped a bit in his seat, sighing in defeat. “Being single was so much easier.”

They had been so busy in the one-sided conversation that, when they arrived at the next stop, neither of them noticed until a familiar, and slightly unwelcomed voice on Ronnie’s part, broke them out of their bubble.

“Are you bombarding her with your relationship problems?”

Her heart skipped a beat, the feeling in her chest startling her more than the boy that now stood across from them. She wasn’t sure what left her feeling more unsettled, that his sudden presence hadn’t caused her to jump out of her skin, or that she was slightly happy to see him. After they parted last night, she suspected they would never see each other again, yet there he was, his calming blue eyes piercing into her with an intensity she wasn’t sure she liked or hated.

Liam smiled at her, something that could only be described as sheepish, and she had to look away before holding her walls up became too difficult under the weight of his gaze. She stared down at her hands, shaking away the warm feeling that had erupted inside her, barely catching Mason’s scoff at his best friend’s accusation.

“I would have to have relationship problems to do that, and I don’t, so _ha!_ ”

With a chuckle and shake of his head, Liam went to take the seat across from them, only to be stopped by Mason abruptly jumping out of his seat and grabbing his arm.

“You,” —Mason jabbed his thumb in Liam’s direction and cocked his head back toward the seat— “are sitting there. I’m sitting here.”

Before anyone could protest, Mason took the seat with a smug little grin that would have made Ronnie laugh if she weren’t so overwhelmed by her own thoughts. She shook them away, hating that she let herself get lost in her head for the second time in one day, and scootched over, making room for Liam to take a seat. The idea sounded far too pleasant for her liking, but she couldn’t just refuse to let him sit down. That would be rude, and she didn’t want to imagine how crushed he would look if she did.

He sat beside her, hesitant at first, but when she mimicked Mason’s earlier actions and patted the seat, he cracked a smile and sat down. She had never minded the quiet, preferring it over anything else, but in that moment, she wished Liam would say something. Anything. She craved to hear his voice again, and she felt sick just at the thought. That wasn’t something to want, something to long for. She shouldn’t want anything, especially not things she could never get. But something about being around them made her want to be selfish.

She wanted to long for things, to cave and do things she only ever dreamed of. In that moment, more than anything, she wanted to be ripped out of her thoughts and thrown into reality, even if this was something she wouldn’t have for long. The promise of forever was one she would never see or hear, but for one more day, she wanted to be selfish. One more day was all she asked. Then she would push them all away if they weren’t tired of her by then. Just one.

A soft nudge on her arm pulled her away from her thoughts and she almost cried out in relief by it, but her attention quickly focused on the silver phone Liam held out for her. She glanced up at him, her question silent but somehow he understood. He gestured toward the phone, not saying anything, yet even she knew what he meant. Her cold hands brushed his warm ones, the feeling causing him to shiver, but she pretended not to notice and looked down at the bright screen.

 _Hey_.

That was all it said, but she didn’t need more. Somehow, that one word managed to calm her more than anything she had ever tried. One, stupid, meaningless word typed carelessly on a screen held more power than she cared to admit, and yet she didn’t fight it either. She loosened her grip on the phone, reminding herself that the object wasn’t important, nor was the single word he had typed. Her thinking otherwise was stupid.

_Hi._

He smiled at the single word and if she had let herself show how she felt, she had no doubt she would have worn that same goofy grin. She forced herself to look away, to focus on the trees that blurred passed them as they drove toward the school. Her dread wasn’t nearly as strong, replaced by what she believed most people would describe as excitement. Why? There was nothing special about this school, or the town. No reason for her to be happy about anything. She needed to get ahold of herself.

* * *

Stupid. That was what it was. Liam knew that it was stupid, and silly, and childish, and countless other things. He knew that, but despite it all, he didn’t even bother trying to fight it. Why would he when he didn’t want to? Was there anything wrong with it? Not really. No one was getting hurt, and no one would criticize him for it, yet he felt so awful for it all. All he was doing was being kind to a girl who seemed scared and alone, offering someone to talk to or a shoulder to lean on when she needs it. If he happened to enjoy her company, was that wrong?

 _Maybe_ —an annoying voice rang in his ears— _because you could kill her if you lose control_. He almost growled at his inner monologue, but with the class in the middle of a test it would be easy to hear. They would all look at him like the monster he knew he was, and that made him feel worse. _Or_ _because everyone around you and your “pack” winds up hurt or dead_. His knuckles clenched, the strength enough to snap his pencil, and on top of everything, his claws now dug into his palms, tearing through the fragile skin. Great.

The teacher seemed to notice his frustration yet still said nothing of it. He was partially glad she kept quiet, but a larger part of him wished he could have been excused before he fully wolfed out in the middle of class. A student behind him kicked at his foot, something that was gentle and barely noticeable, but irritated the beta even further. His eyes threatened to flare, but he clenched his fists harder, repeating the mantra until he felt he could breathe without growling.

Another kick hit his leg, harder this time. He narrowed his eyes, his claws on the verge of returning but he held them back, barely, and whipped his head around to tell off the annoying student behind him. That plan was put on immediate hold, his eyes widening as he came face to face with the soft blend of greys and greens that were Ronnie’s eyes.

That same ghost of a smile —the closest thing to a smile he had seen from her— tugged at the corner of her lips, her eyes oddly calm compared to how he had just reacted to her kicking him, and her mock wave made him forget why he had been irritated in the first place. He wasn’t even sure how he managed to not notice her in the same class, or why she hadn’t made her presence known earlier if she knew she sat behind him. Not even Liam could find a way to get irritated at her or her racing heartbeat, no matter how much the latter concerned him.

She smacked his shoulder softly, a twinkle in her eyes that he wanted to believe was mischievous though there was no way of knowing for sure, and his eyes darted down to the object of assault, brows furrowed as he looked down at the pencil, still whole, unlike the one that her eyes darted to. The two pieces sat on his desk making that familiar frustration bubble in his chest, but another hit on his shoulder brought him back to her as she handed to pencil to him.

He wanted to question her about it, but he knew saying anything would get them both into trouble, so he kept his mouth shut and took the pencil, purposefully brushing his hand against her ice-cold ones. She paid no attention to it, turning her focus back to the test on her table as he should, but he didn’t. Not yet anyway.

Liam gave himself a minute, just one minute to look at her. He knew he should turn his head, keep her out of trouble, but he needed that one minute to see her. She wasn’t comfortable, so to speak, but she looked far more peaceful than he had ever seen her. Her eyes were soft, not wide and alert like always, and she moved with gentle care that he had seen with Scott multiple times, as if they were scared that too much could hurt someone, or something.

Her hands disappeared in her sleeves, only her fingertips poking through the torn material he only now noticed was slightly damp, his eyes trailing up to her other hand, the sweater between her teeth, nibbling at it. He tried not to focus on her lips, moving to her eyes and the dark circles under them, ones that he understood all too well, and the way her cheeks were slightly sunken in.

It hadn’t gone unnoticed by any of them how she didn’t eat at lunch, and at the bowling alley, Liam practically begged her to eat _one_ slice of pizza. He couldn’t bear to think that she hardly ate, but from what he had seen it was true. Her small frame was evidence enough of that, and as that thought plagued his mind, he turned back to the test with a terrible knot in his stomach.

Was he being stupid, caring for a girl he didn’t even know? Would this be another mistake, something that ended with someone, possibly even her, getting hurt? He ran a hand through his hair, tugging a bit as he tried to focus on the test, but instead of being met with frustration, he was overwhelmed with worry, and the only thing lessening it, though not by much, was the rapid thump of the heartbeat behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language, self-hate, minor self-harm


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for warnings on specific chapters

Scott knew she was there long before he saw her. The stench of fear was one that could be distinguished from miles away, always causing his nose to scrunch up and his chest to tighten. He wasn’t much of a fan of that smell, one that was so alike to the one constantly wafting off his best friend. They had a similar base —if that is what you could even call it. Anxiety smelled sickly-sweet, the kind that makes your stomach churn with nausea. Fear was more potent, more bitter, easily spotted in a crowd, yet just as nauseating, if not more.

He hadn’t seen her all day and the heavyweight of guilt was starting to crush him. Ronnie didn’t take him for the type to need a guide dog —if anything, she seemed to be quite the opposite— but that wasn’t an excuse. He could have stopped by her lockers to see if she needed, even wanted anything, or at least offered her to join them at lunch. Something so he could have peace of mind knowing she was aware he was there for her, even if they only met yesterday.

She was still new there, and alone. Scott felt as if it were his responsibility to ensure she would be okay. That her time at Beacon Hills High would be somewhat pleasant and preferably filled with less fear, not that either of those things was entirely possible in their town.

Ronnie had barely taken a step out of the building when he caught her scent, his entire body going rigid. She was nowhere in his sights, but he recognized the strong scents that clung to her clothes —bonfire, cinnamon, and something he couldn’t place— and worse, the bitter perfume that was her overwhelming fear.

His best friend, Stiles, sent him a look, no longer so consumed in the banter between himself and the rest of their pack, and Kira glanced at him with a worried frown, her hand resting reassuringly on his should, gently pulling his attention toward them. They knew little about the new freshman —only what Scott had shared, which wasn’t much— but more than the others and they had witnessed how Scott interacted with her. How it was so clear he cared for her, even if he knew her for less than eight hours.

Unlike Malia and Lydia who had seen Ronnie walking with Scott in the halls, or saw her at lunch but decided it would be best to give her space, Stiles and Kira had the chance to talk to her, even if the conversation was one-sided. They saw how she jumped at the slightest noise, how wide and fearful her eyes always were, even how she had cowered away when adults walked by. It was clear to anyone just how troubled she was, but even clearer to Stiles and Kira that Scott found a way to put the responsibility on him, once again.

There wasn’t anything for Scott to explain, either, which drove Stiles and Kira mad. He couldn’t answer any of their questions, not even the ones about himself. How could he? Who would understand the overwhelming need to protect a frightful girl who he met yesterday morning, who, once he walked to the bus and made sure she got on, had no reason to ever think about again? He knew she wasn’t his responsibility, and it would have been so easy to move on as if they had never met if he were anyone else.

That just wasn’t who Scott was, and maybe this girl wasn’t supernatural, he refused to leave her to deal with whatever demons —literal or figurative— she fought.

He barely glanced at his concerned friend and girlfriend who were starting to get the others attention. Ronnie’s scent blended so easily with the dozen others who shared her fear, but hers was stronger as if this were something that had built for so long. As if she were a storm that had been brewing for years, and the thunder only just began to rumble. The thought made his heart race, because if he were right and this wasn’t even the beginning… he wasn’t sure any teenager could survive the aftermath of such a devastating storm.

Malia must have recognized his behaviour and copied his movements, sniffing the air and gagging once she spotted the strong odour. “God, that smells awful.” She coughed out, earning herself a swat on the arm and glare from Lydia who may not have the same abilities as the others, but knew exactly what they were talking about, or specifically, who.

Anyone could see it if they opened their eyes. Ronnie didn’t carry herself like most, not even the most anxious or burdened ones. Her body was tense, from her neck to her ankles, her walk stiff and quick-paced, easily avoiding anyone who didn’t see her. She never let her sleeves fall away from her hands, instinctively pulling them back down the moment they passed her palm, and when you could see her knuckles they were white, either clutching tightly to her backpack strap or clenching by her side.

She always kept her head down, and when she didn’t her eyes were trained to the ground, avoiding everyone’s judging stares or concerned glances. Scott had barely managed to get her to look him in the eyes, something that she only seemed to do when she wanted him to believe one of her little white lies, but when she relaxed enough she would look, or when she didn’t think he was still paying attention. It was something he knew she did out of curiosity, something she did to quench that dying need to know why.

_Why would anyone care about me?_

Her head was down when he spotted her walking down the steps, hair covering her face from prying eyes. Scott sat on the edge of his seat, watching her carefully, listening to her racing heart and sharp breaths. It wasn’t something unusual, she breathed steadily once all day yesterday, and that could still be considered concerning or unhealthy, but the way she breathed, how it sounded almost raspy… it sounded so similar to when she was having a panic attack.

It wasn’t until he saw her red-rimmed eyes that he was jumping out of his seat. He didn’t bother explaining to his pack what was wrong, or where he was going, not that he was entirely sure himself. She wasn’t fond of much, and human touch and interaction certainly weren’t on the list, but he didn’t want her alone in such a state, panicking or not.

“Ronnie,” He called out, cursing himself for sounding as worried as he felt and not cheery or anything else. Anything else would have been better, but she didn’t seem bothered by his shaky voice. Her eyes snapped up to him, the same fearful look, her eyes wider than usual, and he could hear her breathe out, the sound cracking as if it were a sob, but no noise came out. No noise ever did. “Hey, it’s Scott.”

He felt stupid clarifying that, but the slightly amused cock of the brow relaxed him. She may have been full of fear, extremely shy, and incredibly anxious, but Scott had noticed a fire in her. It was barely there, not even embers, but with the right amount of care, it could be roaring to life. He didn’t get to see the slight flicker often, but he could point out two times it was there, and now, counting this one, three.

 _I know your name_ , is what he imagined she would have said, and he scratched his neck in embarrassment. “You already knew that.” He said, and just as he expected, she nodded. It was painfully slow, and not noticeably clear, but he spotted it. “Sorry.”

She tilted her head a bit, silently asking him why he felt the need to apologize. Ronnie may not have shown many emotions, and outside of her eyes, he wasn’t sure anyone would notice how much she truly felt. Lydia was the one to point it out, muttering something about her inability to _smell_ emotions so she must use normal tactics, like eyes.

Her eyes were a constant wave of emotions, the shades of green brightening when she was happy, even if it wasn’t by much, and the greys consuming them whenever she shut down, something that happened often, he noticed. At that moment, he hated just how grey her eyes appeared, not a trace of green —or any light— in them.

“You have any plans for your free period?” He asked stupidly, but she shook her head, cowering away from a few faculty members who wanted to go up the stairs. She stood off to the side, further away from Scott, but he wasn’t sure that was her goal, so he stepped closer to her, joining her away from the crowds but keeping the distance usually placed between herself and others.

“My friends and I are trying to help our friend study. She’s not incredibly good at math… and frankly, neither am I.” He shook his head. “Not the point.” But he didn’t regret his momentary ramble, noticing a speckle of green shining in the clouds of grey. “Do you want to sit with us? Stiles and Kira are there, and you can finally meet Lydia and Malia. Only if you want to.”

* * *

Ronnie wanted to smack herself, beat herself bloody, scream “you idiot” on the top of her lungs. What was she thinking? She couldn’t keep doing this, letting herself give in to childish wants. It was bad enough caving in around Mason and Liam, and at least then she managed to convince herself she didn’t want to hurt them, that she had zero desire on doing anything remotely near either of them, but when she saw Scott and calmed down, she knew she couldn’t lie to herself anymore.

One day. That was all it took for Beacon Hills to completely ruin her, and she was letting it. She didn’t bother fighting, and maybe it was because she didn’t really want to, or maybe it was because she was too tired. Her entire life was a constant battlefield, and every move she made only earned her a stronger enemy. If one town could hold a peace summit and finally put an end to the never-ending war that raged inside her mind, who was she to fight it. What was so wrong with turning over and admitting defeat?

The white flag always tempted her, but now she desperately clung to it, and it took every bit of her strength not to rapidly wave it in the air.

She relaxed even more while walking with Scott. He was easy to be around, never complaining about her lack of communication, and always looking over at her with an expression that almost convinced her he cared. Maybe he did, or maybe that was wishful thinking on her part. Whatever it was, real or fake, she didn’t want to care. She wanted so badly to feel as if this were something she could have, even if it wasn’t a promise of forever. Temporary didn’t sound that bad right now.

As they approached his table, the one where all his other friends sat, friends that he had known far longer than she had ever dreamed of knowing someone for —and outside of Mr Parker, never would. Their eyes snapped to her; all their attention pulled away from whatever they had been doing to see who the freak was walking with Scott. If it weren’t for the bright smile and wave from Kira and the goofy grin from Stiles, she may have turned around and bolted.

Stiles —to no one’s surprise— jumped out of his seat and ran over to Ronnie, giving her a tight squeeze. Her entire body tensed from the gesture, not so much from fear as it was uncertainty. It was one of her least favourite things when it came to new: the unknown. He had hugged her twice now, and both times caught her so off-guard that she couldn’t do anything other than standing there as if she were paralyzed, waiting for Scott to tug him off of her and send her an apologetic smile.

What does one even do in a hug? Do they just wrap their arms around the other? And people like that? She shook her head at the confusing thoughts and took a step back, her lips curling up in a gesture that felt like a shrug, but she hoped it came off as a smile. Not that Stiles notice one, let alone want one. She was just some strange girl with no ties to any of them. Why had she agreed to this again?

Kira sat on the edge of her seat, the slight twinkle in her eyes confirming that she too wanted to hug Ronnie, but she managed to hold herself back and settle with another wave. Ronnie could return that, even if it weren’t as enthusiastic as the girl with pigtails. “Hey!” She said, her voice as cheerful and gay as it always seemed to be. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed. He returned to the table, taking his seat next to a girl with a curious gaze who watched Ronnie’s every move as if she planned on lunging at any moment. She only took her eyes off the freshman for a second, glancing to Stiles with a minor look of confusion before her attention snapped back onto Ronnie, a low growl leaving her throat. It should have intimidated her, but Ronnie didn’t even flinch from the inhuman noise. “I was wondering when we’d be seeing you again.”

Scott was taking his seat beside his girlfriend, pecking her cheek with a loving smile, when he turned to Ronnie and gestured toward the empty space beside him. She eyed it hesitantly, her heart racing at just how close she would be to everyone, but when Scott flashed her that same reassuring smile he constantly sent her way, she found herself compelled to take a deep breath and slowly approach the table, eyes casting to the two unfamiliar faces that sat on the opposite end.

“This is Lydia,” Scott told her, gesturing toward the kind redhead. Ronnie had spotted her in the halls, even got a wave from her when they passed, and she vaguely remembered Scott giving her a name to put to the face. “And that is Malia.” The angry brunette didn’t look as threatened by the new presence and Ronnie figured quickly that it had a lot to do with Stiles reassuring arm wrapped around her shoulder.

“Why are you so scared?” Malia’s tone was harsh and demanding, and when Lydia swatted her arm she sent the redhead an annoyed glare. “What?” She hissed under her breath, barely audible to Ronnie, but the movement of her lips was clear. “I’m curious.”

“Ignore her.” Lydia sighed. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Ronnie, right?” She nodded, tensing a bit. Why did Lydia know her name? “Scott told us a bit about you. Are you new to Beacon Hills?” Another nod, slow and unsure. “I hope everyone has been welcoming. Sometimes the people here can be a bit…” —Lydia cast Malia a look, a strained smile on her face— “brusque.”

Her gaze snapped to Scott who gently nudged her side, catching her attention without anyone else’s knowledge. “They mean well.” He whispered. “I think they’re a bit stressed with everything; applying to colleges, actually graduating, saving the world.” A saddened look flickered in his eyes as he muttered the last one, but he shook it off and cracked a smile. “You know, the usual stuff.”

Ronnie nodded. She may not have understood what he meant, or what he was implying, but she knew stress well. Some could say it was a close friend of hers. Not as close as fear, but not all too far behind. They were, what she would consider, to be her only friends. The kind that has been through so much with you that you no longer knew what your life would be like without them. She shivered to think she depended on the two like one would close friends, but she also knew, deep down, she did.

“How was your first day?” Kira asked sweetly. Ronnie’s brows furrowed, having to think about how she would answer.

It should have been instinctive: a simple thumbs up that would get anyone off her back. They never wanted to know, just asking out of habit, or trying to be polite. She had experience with that, dealing with it in every foster home she had ever stayed at. One thumb up, something that didn’t even take energy, would satisfy them and they would move on with their day. But that wasn’t what had tripped her up so much. It was that, for the first time in… who knows how long, Ronnie wasn’t entirely sure that little thumbs up would be a lie.

She sent the simple gesture toward Kira with a slight smile before letting her hand drop back into her lap, her other hand slowly relaxing the grip she had on her backpack. “I’m glad,” Kira said, her voice so believable that anyone would think she truly meant what she said. “First days at a new school, especially in the middle of the school year, can be extremely stressful. I always hated it.”

Scott gave her hand a squeeze, the couple staring into each other’s eyes with a look so gentle and sweet that Ronnie had to look away. She couldn’t want anything like that. It wasn’t something she could ever have. Wanting things was dangerous, even if it was something she believed was innocent like sitting with peers during a free period or going bowling with three other freshmen from class. What was she doing? This is stupid, and all that would happen is she would end up getting hurt. It happens every time.

 _And you think this will be different?_ She almost scoffed at herself. Even after all this time, she still held so many dreams close to her chest. Pathetic.

“Hey Ronnie,” Stiles called for her attention, and like an idiot, she gave it to him. His kind eyes were as calming as Scott’s, and if she hadn’t known better she may have thought the two were related somehow. Distant cousins, maybe. “Are you joining us for lunch? We’ll be in much better moods by then, specifically this one.” He playful poked at Malia’s stomach, the action not very funny to her, but he was unphased by her slightly confused glare. “And we won’t be working on math, so there’s that.”

“Liam and I might run drills,” Scott told him before directing his words toward Ronnie. “But you’re always welcome to hang with them, or us. I’m sure Liam wouldn’t mind if you wanted to.”

It was difficult not to perk up at Liam’s name, and even more ridiculous than it was even something she had to stop herself from doing. He intrigued her for reasons she didn’t fully understand, and even more after history class. She couldn’t unsee the look of anger on his face, or how little it affected her. Anger had always been an emotion to cause her to cower, desperate to put as much space between herself and the hothead, but not Liam.

 _Why?_ If only she could answer that herself, but something about his soothing blue eyes reeled her in, and if she weren’t careful, he would get a grip on her that would be hard to break out of. She couldn’t let that happen again. Not after everything she had done to protect herself from that very thing.

“You’ve met Liam, haven’t you?” Lydia asked. Ronnie nodded, the same slow motion she used for every question, though she knew she answered far too quickly. “I saw you two walking together this morning but couldn’t tell if you were with him, or Mason. Or both, I suppose.”

“Oh yeah!” A light clearly flickered on inside Scott’s head, and she could practically see his mental facepalm. “You three ride the same bus. How did I not notice that yesterday?” He shook his head. “So, you’re making friends?”

His question was so innocent, so kind and genuine, and yet terrifying all the same. She knew her eyes widened, and her heart rate increased, finally dawning on her that it was at a somewhat normal speed the moments before. Her guard was down, and this was merely a sharp, startling reminder of why she keeps it up in the first place. Friends weren’t something she could have, and even if they were all being kind, Scott and his friends certainly weren’t hers. That included Liam and Mason, and anyone else who tried to get too close. She couldn’t let them.

She nodded anyway. The moment she looked back into Scott’s puppy dog eyes she couldn’t find it in her to hurt him, to wipe that sweet, innocent smile off his face, and she quickly decided worry wasn’t something he needed to feel, especially not when it was directed toward her. He wasn’t her friend either, none of them was. They had no reason to care about her wellbeing, or anything involving her. She would leave this town, just like she did every other one, and they wouldn’t think of her again, and their life would move on as if it had never changed.

It dawned on her now, that while their life may not be affected by her departure, she wouldn’t be as easy to recover, and that thought scared her more than the idea of having friends to leave behind, because not only was she letting her guard down and giving in to cravings she has had since she was a child, but she was slowly leaving pieces of herself everywhere she went, and they wouldn’t be easy to retrieve once the roots nestled their way into the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: None


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for warnings on specific chapters

Mason had a hard time focusing, but his lack of attention span only worsened whenever his boyfriend was in the room. He couldn’t find anything better to do than give Corey all his attention, and more if that’s what he wanted. Ever since that drunken night at the club —the one that happened months after the first time— and their true feelings were spilt, along with a few drinks that stained their shirts, he could without the teasing from his best friend, though Liam still found a reason to.

They were still relatively new. The word boyfriend once intimidated them, Mason more than anyone, but now that they were official he felt as if he couldn’t use it enough. He repeated it constantly in his head, only ever referring to Corey as his boyfriend just so everyone could know, bragging about it constantly, something that made the hazel-eyed boy blush. Naturally, that only made Mason want to say it more, just to see the cute flush on his boyfriend’s cheeks and the way he bit his lips, looking down to the ground cutely.

He remembered when the crush started well, and he was no longer ashamed to admit it was the same day they met. Corey had been struggling in algebra, not even through the first trimester when their teacher approached him about the subject. She politely offered to tutor him, but after thinking over it more, decided a student would be a better fit to help. Mason was only meant to lend him some notes and sit next to him in class, but he wasn’t about to let the opportunity to spend more time with Corey slip passed them. The crush was already well settled in by then.

Their time in the library only made his feelings stronger, and when Corey kissed him under the lights at Sinema, he thought his heart would burst, but his boyfriend wasn’t ready for that. Not after the recent suicide of his ex-boyfriend. Mason was more than willing to wait, unlike their hormones which turned their strange friendship into something only described as friends-with-benefits. Four months later, and Mason could now proudly brag about his amazing boyfriend, the same man he was sure he had fallen in love with.

Liam had gotten used to Mason paying zero attention to what he had to say, far too distracted by anything Corey did. Even if it were something so boring like doing homework —he thought the slight furrow in Corey’s brows was adorable— he wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else, and Mason finally knew what that must look like because he saw the same lovesick expression on his best friend’s face.

It didn’t take a genius to notice how distracted Liam had been in the past month, and certainly not a challenge for Mason. He caught on instantly, and while he managed to come up with excuses that made sense at the time, he knew now it was far more. Liam’s glances weren’t full of worry anymore but longing, sometimes just a soft expression full of content, and the main attraction wasn’t hard to spot since the moment she entered the room, Liam’s entire body language changed.

Ronnie caught Mason’s interest just as quickly as the others, but his reasons were far more different. He didn’t realize her fearful eyes until Corey pointed them out, and even then he didn’t think much of them. There was something else about her that, in a way, called to him. She never said a thing, and the pull he felt wasn’t one he could explain, nor would to anyone other than his boyfriend. Not even when it started to become clear that everyone else felt it too.

Almost like there was this aura around her, not dark and stormy like one would expect from her, but light and calming like a rainbow after a storm, that storm being her.

She spent little time around them outside of shared classes or the bus, and Mason had seen her a few times sitting with Scott and his friends. Scott often tried to get her to join them during lunch, usually taking place on the lacrosse field or in the bleachers, and when she did he got her all to himself, the two sitting together and watching as the others interacted, sometimes joined by Corey who enjoyed her company as much as Mason.

Corey had her in a few classes and the two sat together in the ones they could, his presence not as intimidating as others Mason had noticed. She flinched easily, that was something even a human could notice, and anyone outside of Scott’s close circle hadn’t managed to get anywhere close to her. Mason and Corey considered themselves lucky, though Mason blamed them being locker neighbours for most of it.

No one really minded her lack of speech, especially Liam. Mason was shocked to see how easily the two communicated without words and even more surprised when he found out they didn’t always use his phone. Liam bonded with her easily, able to read her eyes better than anyone, including Scott who had gotten better. It only took one look, and Liam knew exactly what she wanted to say, and that was when Mason first noticed it.

The gentle smile wasn’t something Liam put on to comfort her as everyone assumed. They all did it during the first few weeks, only growing comfortable expressing themselves during the fourth week. Mason had no reason to think otherwise until he saw the way Liam looked at her when she got off the bus, almost as if he couldn’t stand seeing her go, and he grew unbearably quiet for the next two stops.

He wanted to say something, not that confront his best friend about the matter would make any difference. Liam had one girlfriend, and when Hayden left for London, Mason had to watch his best friend, someone who he considered to be his brother, slowly drown in misery. It wasn’t something he was eager to do again.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t difficult to hold back the constant urge to tease Liam every time she walked into a room. They were in the library, wasting time till the lacrosse game that night and the practice an hour before that when that same need sat on the tip of his tongue. When Ronnie walked into a room, anything Liam had been doing suddenly became less important. His entire body reacted, and Mason had to distract himself with how cute his boyfriend was being to stop himself from saying anything.

She never came into the library, at least not while they were there, and Mason was starting to think she was purposefully avoiding them, not that he would blame her. Sometimes he felt as if they were a bit much, and she certainly wasn’t someone who could handle a lot at once. But when she spotted them sitting at the table, Mason smiled at her mock wave, the same one that made Liam’s entire face light up. He wondered if Liam thought it was just as cute as Mason thought Corey’s little pout when reading was.

Like always, Mason became the voice of the trio, getting out of his seat to go greet her, aware that Liam’s eyes watched him closely. “Hey, Ronnie!” He wondered how she would react to him giving her a hug, but the reminder of how tense she always looked when Stiles did it —he always apologized right after as if it was second nature to greet her with a hug— made him think twice. “You coming to the game tonight?”

Ronnie tilted her head, one of the few gestures Mason understood. “The lacrosse game. We’re playing against Devenford.” She nodded what he assumed was just an acknowledgement of what he said, something she did often just so they didn’t think she wasn’t listening. “I’ll be cheering from the bleachers if you wanted to join. I could use a buddy.”

Her lips twitched, and he briefly remembered Liam saying it was her way of smiling. She never showed her emotions, not fully and none that were real for that matter, and when she did it was overly animated, clearly that way so no one mistook one thing for something else. That had happened far too many times already, usually with Malia, and the animated expressions occurred shortly after.

“I’m sure Scott and Liam would be happy to see you there.” He said, looking over his shoulder to see if his best friend was eavesdropping, not surprised to see he was. “You watch them practice so often, it’s about time you watch them play for real.” She looked unsure how to respond so he gestured back to Corey and Liam, catching his boyfriend’s eyes before turning back to her. “We’re just wasting time until its time for them to go practice, but if you wanted to join us I won’t complain. Someone’s gotta keep me company when they ditch me.”

* * *

Ronnie tried to distance herself as much as she could, and as the one-month mark grew closer so did her dread. She knew it was only a matter before she was sent to a new family, one likely far away from the town she was stupidly growing attached to. The Márquez’s had been nothing but lovely, almost too much for her taste, but even they would realize there was no fixing her. Broken toys were only appealing for so long until, one day, you wake up and realize keeping it around is pointless and a waste. They would too, now she just waited for the day.

Avoiding Scott’s friends had been harder than she ever thought it would be, and if she could be stronger and make her point clear, it may have been easier to shake them off. That had never been a problem before, though, and now that it was she wasn’t sure what to do. No one wanted anything to do with the freak mute, but Scott’s friends had made it rather clear they didn’t plan on giving up on her, something that warmed her and terrified her at once.

Why? She couldn’t understand that no matter how many times she tried to think it over. Scott could just be nice, feel responsible for her since he showed her around the first day, but that didn’t explain his friends’ behaviours. Maybe he spoke to them, begged them to be kind to the fragile freshman who flinched whenever someone says next to her or the bell rang, to show pity. That thought almost made her growl, but she couldn’t find it in her to hate Scott or his friends, not even the grumpy Malia.

She had done a better job when it came to Mason, Corey, and Liam. They weren’t nearly as persistent as the seniors but having them in almost every single class certainly didn’t help, nor did the bus ride to and from school. Mason and Liam still sat with her, not that it was something to complain about. Their company was pleasant, and they made the mornings bearable. After the first few weeks, she started looking forward to the bus ride even if both destinations were places she wanted nothing to do with.

They gave her more space than the seniors ever planned on, especially Liam though she couldn’t decide how to feel about that. Good was the correct answer, but it always made her chest ache when she thought about it for too long. He had quickly become her favourite, not that she could have favourites for anything for she would require friends for that, but he was one of the few people who were able to understand her. All it took was one look and he knew what she wanted to say.

When she saw the freshmen trio she had secretly grown to enjoy, it was almost painful to ignore them, and when her eyes met the soothing blue gaze that caused her heart to jump, she didn’t bother stopping herself from waving. She wasn’t sure why she chose to visit the library, the reasoning mostly having to do with her dread of returning to the Márquez’s —they were throwing yet another party, one with rich guests who wore fancy clothes and spoke about topics Ronnie knew nothing about— but was quickly forgotten once Mason came up to her.

He was far more difficult to avoid than the others. Mason could be stubborn when he wanted to be, and when it came to getting her to spend time with them, he certainly was. She enjoyed being around him as much as the others, his energy as contagious as Stiles’s, so when he invited her to do nothing but sit around for a few hours, she didn’t hesitate to agree.

The Márquez’s had requested she try and make more friends, and they would be pleased to know she was doing something like that, though Ronnie wasn’t sure she would call any of them her friends. Admitting that would mean admitting that she didn’t want to leave Beacon Hills, and that was something she wasn’t ready for. She would leave soon, hopefully, and they would be nothing but a fond memory to look back on if she thought about them at all. They certainly wouldn’t think about her.

Corey grinned brightly when she took a seat across from him, far more excited to see her than someone who was merely an acquaintance. They had formed a close bond during the past month, and she learned things about him she never expected to know about someone. He talked about his family, about the kids who teased him, and when he was feeling confident, spoke about how much he appreciated his boyfriend.

She felt comforted to know she wasn’t the only one who felt so alone, but some days a nasty feeling would erupt inside her, and she let herself drown in the envy, punishment for longing for something that would never be hers.

Liam said few, only really speaking when Mason directed a question toward him, and again when he and Corey were heading to the field. Out of the corner of her eyes, she would catch a few glances from him, the one she always found filled with worry, but recently she swore she spotted something else deep within them. Something so similar to the pain and sadness, to the envy and longing she had felt so often in the last week. Only now she was seeing it in Liam’s eyes, watching as a storm brew over the ocean, and she wasn’t sure it was a sight she enjoyed.

Mason leaned over the table shortly after his best friend and boyfriend left the room, his eyes staring at the door as if he expected them to still be listening. “Is something going on between you two?” He asked, barely talking above a whisper and while it was true they were in a library, up until now he had been anything but quiet. She wanted to know why but answered his question with a confused look. “You and Liam?”

 _Oh_. She didn’t _think_ anything was going on. They weren’t even friends, so there couldn’t possibly be something. Right? She stared down at the notebook in front of her, the one that Liam had given her about a week ago when he realized she didn’t have anything to write in. The history teacher had been calling her out on it since her first day and she figured it was getting on his nerves. No one wants to hear a broken record every day, especially not in an already boring and difficult subject.

Her uncertainty caused her to lean back in the chair, eyes still focused on her unintelligible handwriting. She always hated the way she wrote things, more so now after her previous foster family tried explaining to her how being left-handed was wrong. They didn’t last two weeks, not after deciding that sending a foster child, who was fresh out of juvie, to a prep school would be a good idea. The second they handed her a skirt they all knew it was over. She wouldn’t fit in there.

 _Nor here_ , she had to remind herself. Yes, they were kind and welcoming, and this was the first place where she felt tempted to stay, but it couldn’t last. Not for her, at least. She knew how this game was played, and she had the high score with no plans of letting it go. There was no chance of losing, not when she was sixteen with a criminal record. The game would go on long passed the final level, and she would play until her last dying breath, sooner rather than later.

She jotted down “not that I know of” on the paper and turned it so Mason could read, though she got the feeling he didn’t need the assistance. He nodded. “I would say we should go watch them practice, but Liam was on edge enough without an audience.” He sighed, a clear hint of worry in his breath. “Has he ever told you about his old school?” _No_.

“Devenford Prep.” Mason folded his hands. “He played lacrosse there too, same team that they’re going against tonight. This isn’t the first time they’ve played against them, but every time…” He shook his head. “He gets in his head, starts getting frustrated, and you’ve seen how he can be when he’s angry.”

The memory tugged at her lips, causing a frown. It was true that less than a week ago Ronnie had stumbled upon Mason and Liam while the former was trying to calm down the latter. She never knew what had set him off, only that what she saw certainly wasn’t pleasant. Liam was punching the wall, his knuckles bleeding, and the wall… she wasn’t even sure how he had managed to break it into so many pieces. There was drywall everywhere, Mason specifically covered in it while he tried to get his best friend to breathe.

He ended up finding her later that day, spotting her as she turned to leave the room in what appeared to be a sprint. She would have thought that was what it was too. Anger always caused her fear, but not even that was a reason for her already fast-paced heart to race. If it weren’t for the blood on his hands, she wouldn’t have run, but the second her eyes rested on the crimson covering his knuckles and dripping down from his palms she couldn’t breathe.

Panic attacks were nothing new, and she had more than one while at the high school, but that one had been worse than any before. She kept her eyes shut, squeezed painfully closed as she tried to fight the images flashing through her mind. Nothing worked, and by the time Mason found her she was hyperventilating, too lost in her head to even notice the freshman kneeling beside her, desperately trying to call her attention. He already had to watch one friend hurt himself and was likely still on edge from that.

Once she calmed down, he gave her a brief —almost too brief— explanation about what had gone on, and it took every ounce of strength she had to write down that her state had nothing to do with Liam. Just a reminder of her past and why she could never stay in such a sweet, small town. They never brought it up again, and neither of them told Liam. He was cautious enough when around her, and they didn’t want him thinking he scared her when, truthfully, he was the one person she felt safe around.

“I’m worried about him tonight,” Mason admitted, his eyes cast down and his shoulders slumped. “He’s been through enough; I just want him to enjoy himself, do what he loves: playing lacrosse.” She wished she knew a way to comfort him, but before she could think of anything, he lifted his head and gave her a sad smile. “Thanks for listening.”

She hoped her smile convinced him that she didn’t mind. He deserved to have someone to lean on, and other than his boyfriend and best friend —both who were rather busy— he was alone. Something they had in common.

* * *

Liam hated the constant pacing his wolf always did. The back and forth motion caused his brain to twitch, and with the full moon approaching, it was only getting harder. His wolf was restless, desperate to be let out of the cage Liam tried so hard to lock him in. He needed to give in, to let his wolf release all the pent up stress and frustration that consumed his entire being, but he couldn’t, no matter how overwhelming the urge was calling to him to finally let go.

The full moon wasn’t for another day, but the effects had already started to hit, and the upcoming lacrosse game certainly wasn’t helping. Practice was a challenge, the violence only fueling the fire growing inside him, and it took all his strength —and Scott’s— to keep him from wolfing out on everyone on the team. His alpha called a time out the moment his eyes flashed a threat toward his teammates, none of whom saw it, but they heard the low warning growl that got Scott and Stiles to act.

He almost had no choice but to sit out during the game, something that Scott had been trying hard to avoid, but Liam showed no signs of controlling his wolf. A text from his mom calmed him, not by much but enough to convince Scott to send him back on the field. “Just a test run,” He had told Liam. “If you can’t do this then I _have_ to make you sit this one out.” The words were gentle, and his alpha felt sorry to even consider it, but that didn’t stop the anger from sparking inside him.

There was half an hour before the game, people were starting to show up and take seats on the bleachers, grab snacks, and the other team sized them up while they all prepared for the game when he got a text from Mason. Stiles had yelled at him to check his phone, and when Liam sent him an amber glare the senior unlocked his screen and smiled at the message. His glare deepened, not because of the intrusion of his privacy —he had gotten used to it and even expected it from Stiles— but from the stupid grin on Stiles’s face.

Scott glanced over at him, a clear worried expression consuming him when he saw the glare. “What is it?” He asked, placing a gentle hand on Liam’s shoulder, looking over to Stiles who noticed his confusion and made his way over with that same grin on his face.

“He got a text,” Stiles said once he was close enough so he would hear what they had to say since they would have no trouble hearing him. “Mason wanted to let you know that Ronnie is going to watch with him.”

Whatever reaction Stiles was hoping to get, Liam figured he must have gotten. That stupid, smug grin widened the second Liam snatched the phone and he had to dig his claws into his palm to stop himself from ripping that grin off his face. He forced himself to look away before he wanted to kill Stiles and stared down at the text. Once, twice, five times he read it as if he expected a different thing each time.

His heart started to race, not from his anger which had gone from a roaring fire not ten seconds ago, to barely an orange glow, but from something far more pleasant. He wasn’t sure why he needed to keep reading the text, why he desperately clung to that thought, the one of Ronnie in the audience watching him play, was something that calmed him. She had seen him play plenty of times, more than his own parents, and while they were only practising it still had a similar effect to him then.

Now it was stronger, so strong that he couldn’t lie about it anymore. He couldn’t be in denial when it was so obvious that Stiles had to bite his tongue not to say anything, the smell of blood the telling point and he growled to let Stiles know he wasn’t in the mood. Stiles threw his hands up in defence and walked back to the bleachers, muttering something incoherent under his breath, and Liam was only able to catch “grump” and “no fun”.

The second Mason arrived; Liam knew. He heard her thrumming heart, the incredibly worrisome speed it raced at, a sound that he had managed to memorize the past month. It washed a feeling of calmness over him as he focused on the rhythmic thumping that no longer worried him as much as before. He wasn’t sure when it became such a comfort, but when it occurred to him how often he searched for it —whenever the noises were too loud or his anger too overwhelming— he didn’t bother fighting it.

He focused on the sound every time it became too much, the whistle, the violence, the anger, her heartbeat brought him back to Earth. It was the only noise she ever made, excluding her occasionally breathy laughs or sharp intake, a sound he wasn’t entirely fond of. With each tackle, each failure, anything that caused that fire to ignite, he would close his eyes and focus, pretend that it was just the two of them, imagine they were back on the bus or in the library, no pressure to be anyone or do anything. Just them.

No comments were made about his control, but the looks he got from Scott and Stiles, even the other team’s wolf, Brett, all told him they knew. They may have even known more than he, but Liam wasn’t desperate to get answers. He didn’t want answers. That would only complicate things, and he didn’t want that. He couldn’t have it. Not when he was finally okay.

It was the first game that he felt good about. He did… really good, not just when it came to keeping himself in control but playing too. There wasn’t that overwhelming murderous rage boiling inside him, threatening to erupt at any given moment. All game he kept in control, not even flashing his eyes at Brett’s jabs and teases, the boy obviously trying to get a rise out of the beta. It ended all too soon, yet not soon enough because the moment the game was called, Liam was a confusing mix of pouting and eagerly wanting to be released from the field.

Scott didn’t waste time to praise him, using few words and a quick pat on the back. He must have known how badly Liam wanted to get away because he held Stiles back and gave him a nod of approval. “Go ahead,” His eyes said, so Liam did just that. Not bothering to change, not putting away his gear, he just tossed his stick to the ground and bolted.

His heart skipped a beat when he found her. Ronnie stood with Mason, the boy mid-conversation with his boyfriend, while she scanned over the crowd of people. There wasn’t a hint of fear in her eyes, in fact, it was the most relaxed Liam had seen her. He felt stupid for grinning, for the somersault that happened in his stomach, but _man_ was he feeling happy!

Her eyes lit up when she spotted him, and the ghost of a smile Liam had grown so accustomed to seeing seemed wider. Not quite a full-blown smile, but he could see the way her eyes did the rest, brightening even more than they already were. He pushed through the crowd, hoping he didn’t look as eager as he was, and stopped in front of her, not paying much attention to Mason and Corey, not that they paid any attention to Liam.

“You came.” He breathed out, unsure what else to say. His phone was back in the locker room, and while he could read her well he preferred knowing exactly what she was thinking, not guessing. As she smiled a bit wider, her cheeks flushing a light shade of pink, he realized he didn’t have to. She was almost just as happy as he was. “Did you hate it?”

She shook her head, that small smile still plastered on her lips and he knew he didn’t want to ever see her without it. “I’m glad you decided to come.” He said, barely registering his name being called. He wasn’t ready to part yet, not when he finally got to see the girl who kept him so calm all game, but at the sound of his name coming from his parents, he knew he had to. “I have to go, but I’ll see you.”

* * *

Ronnie nodded, forming a silent promise made between them. One that she had never made in her life, but for him, she gladly did. They _would_ see each other again because she wasn’t ready to leave Beacon Hills. Not yet anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for warnings on specific chapters.

Scott should have known that the peace that had blanketed over Beacon Hills would catch fire long before anyone was comfortable in the soft, stress-free environment. He had been hopeful, they all had been, even if no amount of hope would prevent the inevitable that seemed to be a constant in their life. So, when Argent’s contact flashed across Scott’s screen, they all shared a look, visibly cringing. None of them was ready for the chaos to return.

He refused to force anyone else to miss classes. They were all at enough of a risk at graduating anyways, excluding Lydia but even she had been forced to stay. There was no point dragging all of them along. Argent had kept it rather cryptic, but he assured Scott he handled all the immediate danger, for now. With a quick farewell —after running around the school to try and find Liam who was in class retaking a test and wasn’t entirely happy to be forced to stay behind— he joined Stiles at the jeep and headed off.

Ten minutes passed by, each one met with Stiles who was itching to dive into whatever was going on, but Scott continued to stare out the window, not ready to let go of the peace sooner than he had to. Some part of him, deep down, knew it wasn’t forever, but he really wanted to believe it could be. Just one year, their senior year, he wanted to stress over normal teenager things, like whether he’d graduate on time. Not who was trying to kill his friends or destroy the town, both plausible at this point.

Stiles bolted into the house when Scott _finally_ stepped out of the jeep, a slight chuckle escaping his already tired body. If anyone could make this new danger slightly tolerable, it would be his best friend. He followed behind, frowning as the stench of blood hit him. That was never a good sign, but even worse of one when the source happened to be an Argent, and Scott’s entire body tensed when his senses finally recognized the smell.

His hand snapped out, a blur of motion that caught Stiles by the wrist, his grip tight as he tried to prevent him from walking any further away. He knew his best friend could take care of himself, but the stench had caused an all too familiar fear to hit his core. Until he knew there were no threats, he’d rather have Stiles in his vision and at a distance that would be easy to get to if anything went down.

Nothing was said between the two. The moment Stiles turned to Scott, an exaggerated expression of “ _what the fuck_ ” on his face, his body froze. He had to have seen the weary look on his best friend’s face because he didn’t bother doing anything, and when their eyes met a nod of understanding was shared. They spoke with their eyes, and Scott’s grip tightened. Something was wrong, and Stiles sensed it too.

The hold on Stiles’s wrist loosened as Scott’s eyes darted over the house, taking in everything, searching for any sign of potential danger, and dreading the list of worst that could happen. He glanced over his shoulder, double-checking that his best friend was still there, that he wasn’t hurt, and another looked was shared before either of them started to head in deeper.

They hadn’t gotten far when a blend of smells hit Scott, the mix of animal, blood, and something muffled causing his nose to scrunch up in disgust. The strength of the scents stopped him in his tracks. He felt suffocated, unable to breathe without the threat of gagging, alerting any danger of their presence. Another sniff, enough of one to scent the air in hopes of discovering what animal had stood out, had his heart stopping.

Somebody was dying.

Any rational thinking flew out the window in that moment. His heart pounded in his chest, the verge of bursting. “Argent!” He could hear Stiles cursing under his breath, but he repeated the name. No answer. The house was quiet, too quiet for Scott’s liking. “Is anyone here?”

“What are you doing?” Stiles hissed, smacking Scott on the arm, but the action didn’t phase the panicking alpha. “Talk to me, man.”

He shook his head, hoping… no, more like praying that Stiles understood what he failed to say. His wolf walked along the edge, ears perked up and listening closely, needing to hear something, even if it was the faint sound of a heartbeat. Anything that could confirm or deny the fears that had started pacing in his mind. “Argent!”

There was a creak coming from the opposite side of the house, loud enough that even Stiles heard, the noise startling both boys. Had Scott not been so on edge, he knew Stiles would have made some remark about him being jumpy, but neither of them said anything as their wide eyes waited to see who was in the house with them.

A sharp exhale escaped Scott when Argent came into view. “What’s with the yelling?” The older man asked, seemingly oblivious to the anxious state both boys were in.

Scott didn’t waste a second to look him over, chest tightening at the sight of the dark crimson shade that had stained his clothes. “You’re hurt.” He said and the smell of blood grew stronger. His wolf remained on edge, and with his heightened senses, he was quickly reminded of the strong smell of death. “What happened?”

“Relax,” Argent instructed the teenagers. “I told you over the phone there was no danger. I already handled that.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re bleeding.” Scott argued.

“I’m fine, it’s not even a scratch.” Argent waved his hand. “Come on, I didn’t call you all this way to have you fuss over me.”

Stiles glanced wearily at his best friend, a worried frown and silent question lingering in the air, one that would remain unanswered for now, and slightly raised brow as if he were asking what their next move was. Scott nodded, walking side by side up the stairs, neither of them able to guess what it was Argent wanted to show them. He rarely called them out of school, if ever, and whatever noise he managed to find could always wait until more facts were gathered. This wasn’t the case at all.

The room they stepped in —one that may have once been the master bedroom if it weren’t for all the blood— reeked of death. Scott couldn’t hold back the gag that followed the foul stench and he almost pitied Stiles who had to cover his nose. He tried to catch Argent’s eye, see if he could get an explanation out of him, but the older man had moved further into the room to move something, the sound equally as awful as the smell.

“You’ll have to come in to see this.” Argent said, not bothering to look up at the boys who made their displeasure well known the deeper into the room they got. He may not have been phased by it, but they certainly were. Scott peered over his shoulder, Stiles right beside him, and the two muttered under their breath in horror at the sight before them. “This isn’t even the worst.”

“Shit.” Stiles breathed out.

There wasn’t a word Scott could use to describe the thousands of thoughts running through his mind in that moment, though a whimpered out, “my God,” told his friends he hadn’t fainted. He knew it couldn’t do justice to what he felt, but no word could. After all, what can one say when a moved floorboard under a king-sized bed reveals a collection of dead, rotting werewolves?

* * *

Ronnie stared out the car window, her mind fading in and out of consciousness. The scenery went by in blurs, easy to focus on nothing, an opportunity she took advantage of. She knew the effects a wandering mind would have, especially when that mind was hers, but there was much weighing on her, and while letting her thoughts bounce around would do little to ease the weight, it lessened it enough that breathing didn’t cause a sharp pain to ricochet inside her.

A sense of unease had threatened to suffocate her since she returned to the Márquez’s house, long before they requested she join them for dinner. The day had started off that way as if there was something awful soon to come, and if her past had proven anything she could have guessed what that would be. She was grateful they decided to do it on a Friday, not that it would lessen the blow any. It had been her fault, letting herself grow attached to the little town, to the people who lived there. The pain would be her problem to deal with, and she may just let herself one day, not that it would be anytime soon.

She closed her eyes, begging for the tears to stay locked within their cage. The Márquez’s were wise to choose a public location to break the news to her. There wasn’t much that could be done in a public place, especially one as fancy as _The Château_.

The valet startled her, though he proved to be a kind boy she had seen a few times at the high school, enough that she knew he was a sophomore on the lacrosse team. She almost pitied him when the Márquez’s lectured him about how to take care of a car, behaving as if the boy had never laid eyes on a car, let alone was paid to drive them safely. In some ways, he reminded her of Corey, if he had been more arrogant and straight.

He sent her a smile, one that looked out of pity, and she wondered how many families received that same expression from the lower class. She certainly wouldn’t hold any pity for them, not when she had spent months starving and without shelter, but it made her curious, the thought of people feeling bad for those who have so much. They must be missing out on something, something that not even money could buy them. It puzzled her to think what that could be.

They had reserved a booth far from the others dining that evening, hidden in a corner of the restaurant, away from prying eyes and attentive ears. She tried not to notice the care Mr Márquez seemed to take as he took a seat, his eyes trailing over every inch of the restaurant as if he were anticipating an attack. The tension surrounding him alerted her, but she kept herself together as she took a seat, scootching as far away from the Márquez’s as she could.

Silence consumed them quickly, and Ronnie had to remind herself to breathe. Everything was quickly becoming too much, even if nothing was going on, but it was that very lack of anything that had overwhelmed her. She wanted to pull her hair out, scream, do anything if it didn’t leave her alone to deal with the thoughts racing through her him. The dread was deafening in the quiet restaurant, and she was defenceless against it.

It came as no surprise. There wasn’t a damn thing she could protect herself from, and some days she didn’t bother trying. The pain always reminded her she was human, that she hadn’t become like all those other foster kids she had seen over the years. That there was still a part of her, whether that be minuscule or not, that wasn’t the monster every new home inevitably viewed her as.

She clasped her hands together, holding on tightly as if the hold would shield her from what was to come, keep her anchored to the ground, but she seemed to have forgotten how holding on to an anchor would drown you. The Márquez’s let her drown in the silence, only speaking whenever the waiter came over, though his visits were even less frequent when Mrs Márquez commented on males being waiters and how it was “unfit”.

Mr Márquez quietly asked why she hadn’t eaten anything, but Ronnie gave no reply, not even bothering to meet his gentle eyes. He had been nothing but kind to her, even when she first arrived, when barely cast her a glance before sending her off to figure out how to survive on her own. It startled her when he came to ask how she was, if she needed anything, and even offered to help her settle in. She assumed his kindness had been just like the others before, only in it for the moment, but he kept up the act long past the expiration date.

He had been the one who finally broke the silence, and as if she had been submerged under the surface, she silently gasped for air. “I know this is probably a bit…” —his brows furrowed, a finger tapping against his chin as he searched for a fitting word— “uncomfortable. _The Château_ isn’t for everyone, but Marcella insisted we go somewhere nice if we are planning on having such a serious discussion.”

“Don’t put _all_ the blame on me, Alvaro.” Mrs Márquez swatted his arm, a playful twinkle in her eyes. “I just thought this would be more pleasant over some caviar, good music, and _preferably_ wine.”

Ronnie tried to smile but she felt nothing remotely close to what she imagined joy to feel like. Not that she had never felt it before —she could hardly remember those times, and faking an emotion was challenging enough without the proper knowledge on what she was pretending to feel— but that was a long time ago. She hardly thought caviar and good music would be enough to bring a true smile to her face. Wine, however, was up for debate.

The couple bantered back and forth, something that they did often Ronnie had noticed, but it was nothing like the constant bickering most married couples tended to do. They were smiling, laughing, enjoying the little thing they had going on, completely oblivious to Ronnie’s watchful eyes as she studied them.

She hated to admit it, but she liked the Márquez’s. It wasn’t just Mr Márquez who had been kind to her, both treating her as if she were a teen and not a ticking time bomb. There was no hovering like most families, they gave her space, didn’t bother with rules she’d purposefully disobey. Everything else remained the same, that tension that always seemed to linger in the air as if they expected her to snap at any given moment. She wondered how much of her file they had taken the time to read. Most families claimed to have, but the look of shock and horror they had whenever she so much as twitched —which wasn’t even remotely close to what her worse looks like— told her otherwise.

When the food was gone from all their plates —Ronnie’s excluded— Mrs Márquez cleared her throat awkwardly, unashamed as she reached for her third glass of wine, taking quite the large gulp of the sweet liquid. She took a deep breath, finally looking up to meet the curious girl sitting across from them. How awfully was this conversation going to be? Ronnie wasn’t new to this kind of thing, she was likely a bit too familiar with it, but the behaviour of the couple left her feeling confused.

“Now,” Mrs Márquez gestured nervously, preparing herself for what she was about to say. “I know there is no _right_ way to bring this up, and no matter what we’re going to end up uncomfortable and miserable…” She shook her head and muttered, “Just rip the Band-Aid off, Marcella.”

“I think,” Mr Márquez swiftly cut in with a kind smile and gentle hand on her shoulder, “What my wife is trying to say here, is that we’ve noticed this past month has been pleasant for you, and we hope to be able to keep things that way in the future.”

 _Future?_ Ronnie’s head tilted to the side, her eyes squinting in confusion. Kids used to tease her for it, but she had no other way of letting someone know what was running through her mind, and the overly animated reactions seemed to do the trick quite well. She tried not to let her thoughts shift to the group at the school, knowing that thinking about them would only hurt if this really was the end.

“Do you… like your life here?” Mrs Márquez asked carefully. Ronnie knew better than to give an honest answer. “Alvaro and I learned a few years ago that children wouldn’t be in our future. I was a miracle child in my family, and it had never been a secret that getting pregnant in my family would be a challenge. When we learned about fostering, I’ll admit I wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but after Ricardo…” —she smiled fondly as if she was reminiscing— “I enjoy this, and you’ve quickly become someone I’ve grown fond of, Alvaro too. We’d like you to stay, at least until the end of the school year.

“If you don’t want to stay after that, we won’t judge you.” Mr Márquez added, sharing a look with his wife.

To say the entire conversation had caught Ronnie off-guard would be an understatement. Any emotion that showed on her face had disappeared, leaving her with one that could only be described as stone-cold. She had stopped breathing, something she did far too often to be considered healthy, and her eyes slowly darted between the couple in front of her, desperately searching for any sign that this was all some cruel joke. They couldn’t _possibly_ mean any of this, could they?

Mr Márquez must have sensed her unease, and with a kind smile and warm tone, he directed all his attention toward her. “We understand that you may need some time to decide what you’d like to do. I know not all foster children have the opportunity to control their lives, but I hope you know we are sincere in this offer. You seemed to have made somewhat of a life here this past month and I hope to see you expand this, possibly even lay some roots. This may be a small town, but it _is_ a lovely one.”

“Not that I mean to reroute the topic, but there is something I’ve been meaning discuss with you.” Mrs Márquez said with a raise of her hand, silently asking for the spotlight to return to its rightful position, shining on her. Oddly enough, Ronnie preferred it that way, relaxing a bit now that they were looking away from her, though she still failed to find the strength to breathe. Perhaps when they were out of the restaurant. “Specifically, about… your… struggles.”

Ronnie cringed, thankful that she hadn’t tried to fight the inability to do simple human tasks like breathing. This meal certainly wasn’t one that she would be able to do anything during, not thinking nor breathing. She felt her fingers itch for the wine glass in front of her, the one that Mr Márquez hadn’t touched since it was ordered, but she clasped her hands tightly in her lap and continued to look monotonous.

“We know you struggle —though I haven’t managed to place what exactly that is,” She shook her head dismissively. “What I’m trying to say is, there’s a gym we go to that offers self-defence lessons for teens struggling with anger or, in your case, fear.” Ronnie’s eyes almost widened. _So, people really did notice._ Mr Parker was right. “I’d like you to attend a lesson, just to see if it might be something that could be beneficial for you. You are more than welcome to bring a friend if that makes you feel more comfortable.”

The words, “I don’t have any friends” weighed heavily on her tongue, and for once she was grateful of her lack of speech. She feared that not even she could prevent herself from spitting out the words surely laced with venom, but as that same phrase echoed in her mind she cringed at how it sounded. Was it true anymore now that she wasn’t so alone? When does one consider an acquaintance to be a friend?

Maybe things were different but not safe, they were never safe, so the wishful thinking was put to an immediate end. They offered to let her stay but that didn’t mean their minds wouldn’t change before long. She would manage to fuck it up, just like she always did, it was just a matter of time. For now, she nodded in agreement to Mrs Márquez’s request and waited for the couple to finish their meals and wine before she hid in the room they let her stay in, overwhelmed by thoughts and wishes she knew would be the death of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language, minor violence, death


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for warnings on specific chapters.

Corey closed his eyes, taking deep breaths in hopes that would help control his rapid breathing, focusing all his attention on the world around him. He was no stranger to tuning out the world that, conveniently enough, hardly noticed he existed. It started at home when he was little, only getting worse the older he got, and catastrophic when news of his sexuality reached home. The anger flaring in his parent’s eyes was one he wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

That had hardly been the reason he decided to pick up a few self-defence lessons on top of lacrosse. He could handle whatever he was dealt at school and occasionally home, but when Mason got himself into trouble that nearly got him killed —again, apparently— he knew that one of them needed to be able to protect themselves and each other. Corey just happened to be willing to, and his boyfriend was always overwhelmed between school and the constant danger his best friend finds himself in. It was beneficial for everyone this way.

He shouldn’t have been all that surprised with his lack of strength, though lacrosse had managed to give him a bit of a boost unlike some of the teens in the class. Most of them were bullied and in desperate need of protection, two of them struggled with their anger control and shamefully admitted being the bully on a few occasions, and then there was Corey. They hardly noticed him there too and he couldn’t decide if that was good or not, though it didn’t matter. He wasn’t there to make friends but to protect the ones he already had.

Anthony, the director of the lessons, was a strange man, impossible to read —something that quickly drove Corey a tad mad— and always wearing a stoic expression. He proved countless times that he knew what he was talking about, and when one of the teens questioned his knowledge they got a lengthy demonstration that left the scrawny teens shaking with fear. The man explained that while he may not be as young as he used to be, he could kick all their asses without breaking a sweat.

Some of them feared him, others respected him, and Corey hadn’t formed much of an opinion. In some ways, more than he cared to admit, the man reminded him of a stricter version of Couch back at the high school. He showed no love or affection to those under his care, but he motivated them and taught them, maybe without even realized what it was he had done. Anthony didn’t seem like that kind of person, however, and he didn’t do much without purpose or meaning.

With one last exhale, Corey opened his eyes and swung his fist, knuckles painfully colliding with the gloved hands in front of him. The pain rippled up his arm and he groaned out, confirming his failure to his instructor who seemed to have already known. Anthony’s expressionless eyes softened, just as Corey had seen him do a few times with the more fearful of the group, but his voice refused to give away that tone for him. Corey didn’t need it, and Anthony knew that.

“Keep your arm levelled with your shoulder.” Anthony swatted Corey’s elbow, moving it to the desired position that Corey quickly noted and nodded in understanding. “Use your hips more, let your body get into it. If you stay too stiff, your hit will lack power and you can be vulnerable to a hit from your opponent.” He raised his hands again, gesturing to Corey as he repeated the same word the teen had heard all afternoon. “Again.”

They went another round, stopping once more to correct a few things he did wrong before going back, each time giving Anthony the chance to evaluate where Corey struggled and needed to work on. Corey hated being under a microscope, but he tried to remind himself why he was doing it. It started being the only reason he wasn’t giving up. That and it had only been two weeks, too soon to surrender so easily. He had hardly put up a fight and if he couldn’t handle these lessons, how could he be expected to protect Mason?

His frustration helped to fuel his next few punches, adding the power he was clearly lacking into each swing, going on a few more rounds until Anthony decided he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to go any further. He wasn’t wrong, but that made Corey even more frustrated as he ran his taped hand through his hair, glaring down at the offending fabric meant to protect his fists from further injury.

Maybe it was stupid of him to think that little, fragile Corey could do anything to protect anyone. He could take a punch any day, but outside of the lessons, had never dealt one. If he weren’t strong enough to stand up to people, what made him think he could do anything against supernatural beings? Would it just be best to let Mason’s supernatural friends handle it? His fists clenched as the image of blood pooling under his boyfriend —a boy he was scarily starting to love— flashed through his mind.

Those supernatural “friends” failed to protect him that day and he almost died because of it. Mason may have been willing to throw himself in harm's way, not even bothering with a second thought, but not Corey. He had just found someone who cared about him, someone who saw him, and he refused to let anything happen to Mason. The frustration boiled into anger as Liam’s words echoed in his mind, those same words being the reason he was there now because all the beta wanted was someone who would care enough to protect his best friend, to prevent that scenario from happening a third time.

If Corey had to be that person, then that was exactly what he would do.

The familiar _bling_ of the door’s bell alerted the room of a new presence, pulling Corey out of his overwhelming thoughts and growing anger. He shook his head, taking advantage of the moment and clearing his head, finally getting some water in him. Mason would have scolded him for going so long without drinking anything, especially when he was pushing himself as hard as he had been, the thought bringing a smile to his face. His boyfriend always managed to do that, even when he wasn’t there.

“Miss Denver,” Anthony called out and Corey’s eyes widened. He turned around, eagerly searching the room for the familiar brunette that he had quickly grown fond of. His smile only widened when he spotted her standing by the front door, her hands hidden beneath her sweater sleeves and black backpack over her shoulder, held tightly in her fist.

Ronnie looked around the room with those wide, alert eyes she had the first few weeks of school —as time went by she wasn’t nearly as frightful, Corey noticed— but when she spotted Corey, her eyes gave away the slight relief she felt. He knew she wouldn’t return his wave or smile, but one thing he had learned about her during the past month was that everything she didn’t show, thoughts or emotions, would shine through her eyes, the shades varying from a bright emerald green or a dark storm cloud, and everything in-between.

His brow quirked up when he saw her relax as Anthony approached her, her grip around the flimsy backpack strap being the biggest giveaway. He watched the two interact, unable to hear what the instructor was saying to her or tell what she was thinking, but he was extremely curious as to what it was. She no longer looked as fearful, her more relaxed demeanour something Corey had only seen once in the past month, and when he saw her open her mouth he swore his jaw hit the ground.

 _Did she just say something?_ They all knew she wasn’t incapable of talking, and Scott had noticed a few times where she looked like she wanted to say something, always deciding against it. Maybe that was why seeing it had come as such a shock. Corey knew her to speak with her eyes and the occasional notebook when they were in class, he’d even seen her use Liam’s phone to communicate with the beta, but never with actual words.

Anthony glanced over to Corey and the teen’s stomach tightened. Had she said something about him? He took a large sip of his water, desperate for something to keep him preoccupied so his mind wouldn’t run through everything they could possibly be discussing. She didn’t seem like the type of person to gossip about another, but up until that point, he didn’t take her as the type to do any talking. His heart stopped the moment Anthony called for him to come over there.

With his head down, Corey walked toward the two, momentarily questioning how Ronnie knew the older man, even feeling comfortable enough to speak to him. He always hoped one day she would trust him enough to talk, but that thought always sat in the back of his head and never one he pondered for long. There was nothing wrong with her not talking and he had to remember that especially when he started thinking it would change the growing friendship he believed they had. He wasn’t so sure anymore.

The older man’s tone had changed completely, speaking to Ronnie with one Corey had heard directed toward Liam multiple times: gentle and cautious, as if the smallest thing could set her off, and maybe that was true. “Mr Bryant,” Anthony said with a nod. "Miss Denver hear tells me you two go to school together.”

Corey looked to Ronnie as if asking what she wanted him to say. She sent him that slight smile usually reserved for when it was just his little friend group. He always assumed that was because she was rather close with Mason and Liam too, even more with the latter, but he had to admit it was nice seeing it outside of their little bubble. There was no doubt in his mind that a full smile from her would take the breath away from everyone in a room and have boys —even girls— tripping over themselves to be the cause of it.

“Yes sir,” Corey said, turning to meet Anthony’s gaze, relieved to see it was much softer than the usual stone expression. “We share a few classes and sometimes hang out in the library or the bleachers.”

There was no point explaining himself, though Corey certainly felt like he had to, and when he saw the way Anthony’s dark eyes lit up he was glad he did. He could assume that Ronnie was rather close with the older man, and that said man cared deeply for the girl. It should have been obvious the moment he saw the two interact now that he thought about it.

“Would you say you two are friends?” Anthony questioned and Corey sensed that he wasn’t asking for himself but the girl whose eyes widened upon hearing it.

His nervous expression melted away, making room for the stupid grin that tugged at the corner of his lips. The entire pack viewed her as a friend, but they were all too worried about scaring her away to say anything. Corey didn’t think that would entirely be the case. Would it scare her at first, no doubt, but if the look in her eyes was any indication, he knew she wanted his answer to be one thing. He didn’t even have to hesitate as he answered, “Yes sir.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide but not with fear. It was almost relief, and when Corey looked back at Anthony he saw the older man watching her with a fond expression, one you’d expect to see from a parent. He tried not to smile even more at seeing it.

“Glad to hear it.” Anthony’s words were directed to her and when she returned his look there was something close to a real smile on her, just as bright as Corey knew it would be and it wasn’t even in full bloom. “Mr Bryant, would you mind running through a few warm-ups with Miss Denver?”

“Not at all,” Corey said, ignoring the pit of doubt in his stomach. Did he even remember the warm-ups they went over every lesson? Not really. He tried to shake the feeling off, turning back to Ronnie who was looking at him, waiting for his instruction. “I’m gonna be honest,” He gestured for her to walk with him over to the corner of the room he always occupied, away from the other groups. “I don’t know all the warm-ups very well, so we may be a bit blind in this one.”

Ronnie nodded as she set her backpack down beside his duffel, unaware of the shocked expression that flashed across Corey’s face. She hardly ever let that thing go, especially not when there were a lot of people around. He forced his smile to return before she turned back to him, her back toward the trashed object she treasured. “You ready?” He asked, falling easily into how comfortable her presence was, and even more so when she nodded once more.

* * *

Liam could hardly stand that Mason was joining them on —yet another— dangerous mission and learning that all his human friend had to protect himself was the metal baseball bat Stiles got him after the last incident certainly wasn’t helping cool off his boiling anger. Even worse was that there wasn’t a thing he could say to convince his best friend to stay home, not even when he brought up Corey who was apparently “busy” that night. Most days Liam admired his friend’s determination, but that trait quickly started to irritate him, and the more Mason threw himself in harm's way, the worse it got.

Didn’t he know Liam only wanted to protect him?

None of that mattered to the reckless human since Mason proceeded to climb into the backseat of Stiles’s jeep, ignoring the protest from Liam and oblivious to the pleading looks he sent the two in the front seat. There wasn’t much Scott could say considering Stiles was his equivalent to “idiot best friend always throwing himself into supernatural trouble even though he’s human”, and anything Stiles said would be hypocritical. That didn’t protect either of them from the burning glare the beta sent them as he reluctantly joined Mason in the back, a pout on his face the entire drive.

Halfway there, Liam hesitantly shot a text to Corey. He wasn’t sure what there was to say, so he opted for something simple and hit send, purposefully leaving out the part where his boyfriend is the biggest idiot he knew. Corey and Liam weren’t exactly friends, and insulting Mason may not help much with any conversation Liam hoped to have.

**< <<Hey, you busy? **

**> >>Depends, what stupid thing are you doing now? **

The response surely didn’t make him feel any better and his eyes narrowed down at the infuriating words that appeared on his screen. _What could possibly be more important than Mason’s safety,_ he wondered, forgetting about the part that he hadn’t told the boy anything. He took a deep breath, glancing over at Mason to make sure he wasn’t paying any attention, relaxing a bit at the animated expressions he had, consumed in whatever conversation Stiles had started with him.

**< <<Nothing, just curious. Is that illegal? **

**> >>For you? Yes. **

A few minutes passed by of Liam just staring down at the phone, fighting to find anything to say but coming up with nothing. What was he doing? He knew he had promised to tell Corey if anything was going on, specifically things that involved Mason, but he almost felt guilty. The two were hardly friends, and if it weren’t for Mason they would have never spoken to each other outside of lacrosse. What gave him the right to worry Corey when this was likely just his emotions acting up and nothing serious?

They shared nothing in common other than the nerd that was Mason, something that had brought them closer when he was dying on the floor of a warehouse. It was the same day Corey told him he may have fallen for Mason, the two anxiously waiting in the hospital lounge for news, attempting to distract each other before they did something stupid or completely fell apart, both extremely likely on that day. Once they knew Mason would be okay, Liam and Corey exchanged numbers, just in case. Still, neither of them would refer to the other as a friend. They had an understanding and that was all.

**> >>I’m out with a friend right now getting milkshakes. **

Three dots appeared, disappeared, then reappeared on the screen far too many times for Liam’s liking, his eyes flickering between his phone to his friends’ conversation in the car, not paying much attention to whatever they were talking about. His entire body flinched when the small phone vibrated in his palm, the feeling startling him more than it should have. Why was he so tense? He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm his now racing heart, and took a deep breath before reading the new message.

**> >>Is it an emergency? **

He didn’t know how to respond as he glanced over at his best friend, finally focusing on what they were discussing, not all that surprised to hear the nerds had fallen into easy conversation, bouncing ideas of what this could possibly be, if it was human or something worse, even who their suspects were. Could this be considered an emergency? Did Liam have the right to worry Corey with this? It could be nothing, and then he would be the overdramatic wolf on top of explosive.

Mason must have felt his staring, taking a minute to glance at the beta and send him a smile, the worried frown tugging at his brows. Liam couldn’t keep anything from Mason, not even when he had gotten bitten. A few months passed by, dealing with the full moon had gotten easier though Scott still worried —he did it with all of them but more with his beta— but he stepped back to let Liam handle it, and he did surprisingly good. Good enough that he finally felt like he was ready to tell Mason everything.

When Scott first told him it would be okay, that he wouldn’t be angry if Liam wanted to tell his family, Mason obviously included in that, Liam had been so nervous. His parents were immediately crossed off the list, Liam not wanting to put them through all of that, slightly terrified that they wouldn’t be able to look at him the same again, but he desperately wanted to tell Mason. They had been friends since… forever and keeping such a secret felt wrong. He wanted to tell his best friend more than anything.

Once they got through the details —Liam having to explain everything and answer a few questions— all Mason could do was act giddy. “My _best friend_ ,” He would say before squealing out, “is a fucking werewolf!” All night he said it, sometimes under his breath in disbelief, other times full-on shouted aware that no one would hear them. He’d ask a few questions, geek out some more, and then calm down and repeat the whole process.

If anything happened to Mason, Liam wasn’t sure how he’d survive.

**< <<No.**

What else could he say? Just the thought of something happening to Mason was making him sick to his stomach, and the last thing he wanted was to be responsible for something happening to Corey too. He could protect his friend, but having to protect both Mason _and_ Corey would be too much and there was no way of knowing if he’d manage. One human life was difficult enough, he couldn’t risk another.

**> >>Liam, is everything okay? **

He frowned at the new message, wanting to curse under his breath but knowing Scott would hear it. Why couldn’t he keep his worries to himself?

**< <<I’m with Scott and Stiles right now looking into a possible werewolf killer. **

Argent had warned them about the possible danger before hopping in his car and driving off to meet someone who may know something. Liam tried to remember that now, emphasizing on the word, “possible” as much as he could. There was no definite. It could just be a quick look around, they could find nothing, and everyone could head to school without feeling the weight of the world slowly crushing them. All of that simply seemed too good to be true. With a deep breath, he began to type.

**< <<Be careful. I’ll let you know when we find out more. **

Not bothering to wait for Corey to text back, Liam shut off his phone and tossed it onto the seat between him and Mason. He tried to focus on the overly animated conversation his best friend was having with the other idiot in the car and not the dread settling deep in the pit of his stomach. Maybe he was just overreacting. Argent didn’t know for sure what they were walking into, but he had specified that there _might_ be danger. Surely that was a good thing, right?

“You alright, Liam?” Scott asked in a whisper, his voice barely loud enough for his beta to hear, and he wouldn’t have if it weren’t for his heightened senses.

Their eyes met in the mirror, Scott’s soft brown ones easily soothing Liam’s worries, and the latter gave a nod. He trusted his alpha, even after everything they had been through… _especially_ after everything. Scott wouldn’t let anything happen to Mason, and neither would Liam. Mason would be safe long as they were around, and Liam didn’t plan on letting his best friend out of his sight.

“Did Argent tell you what he thought we were walking in to?” Liam asked, his voice catching the attention of the humans who now eagerly waited to see where this new conversation was headed.

Scott sighed. “I don’t think he really knows much.” He took a deep, shaky breath, the noise taking Liam by surprise, and it was only then that he noticed it. The way Scott’s shoulders were stiff, how his chest heaved as if a weight was already crushing him, his heart rate a tad faster than the beta was used to hearing from his alpha. “Argent tried to figure out more after we found the bodies, but whoever was responsible knows how to cover their tracks. Whoever it was, they’re good.”

“My mom has been studying the bodies,” —Scott continued after a few minutes— “and Parrish has been running through anyone who has a history of violence, or anything even just slightly tying them to the crime. Argent has a contact that may know something about it, but we won’t know more until he comes back. Hopefully, one of them will figure something out soon.”

Stiles squeezed Scott’s tense shoulder, receiving a smile of gratitude. “They will,” He promised, determination in his voice. It was almost easy to believe him, especially when it came from Stiles. “Come on, we’ve got the best people looking for this, _and_ us. Whoever is killing people won’t be getting away with it much longer.” Stiles glanced back at Liam and Mason, the former relaxing more at the confidence radiating off their driver. “No one messes with Beacon Hills and gets away with it.”

The boosted morale barely lasted five miles after getting out of the car. Scott led the way, his wolf on high alert in the dark, the clouds hiding their only light behind a thick layer of grey. He glanced back occasionally, ensuring that his pack was all still there, and with a subtle flash of his eyes, he asked the same question to Liam who, thankfully, answered the same way. With a shake of his head, the two would breathe out in relief.

There wasn’t anything off, not a smell nor sound alerting them of any potential danger, and other than the feeling Liam had gotten the second they stepped out of the car —one that Scott confirmed he felt too— there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. The werewolves remained on alert regardless, the slightest movement catching their attention, only relaxing once they got confirmation that it was just some forest animal and not a human.

It wasn’t until they reached the cliffside, when Stiles and Mason had taken a moment to admire the view while Scott and Liam tried to find which way they needed to go, that Scott let out a low growl. The noise went unnoticed by their human friends, but Liam’s eyes flashed amber upon hearing the warning, the beta by his alpha’s side in a flash. There was no need to ask questions, the smell was strong enough for Liam to figure it out on his own.

They weren’t the only werewolves out that night.

“Mason. Stiles.” Liam called out in a hiss, not taking his eyes off their surroundings as his nose searched for the location of this stranger. He felt Mason’s hand on his back, his friend’s silent way of letting him know he was there, something that eased a bit of the tension from the beta, but another low growl from Scott had him on edge just as quickly.

His nose scrunched up as the smell grew stronger, the aroma of sandalwood overwhelming his senses, and a sense of familiarity hit him. Did he know this werewolf? That wasn’t likely, considering he never spent time with anyone outside of the pack, but something about the scent awakened a wave of anger inside him he didn’t want. He almost growled when another odour hit him, the stench blended with the unknown wolf’s, and his stomach churned. One look at Scott told him he wasn’t losing it; the alpha had caught it too.

Blood.

“Scott,” Liam whispered, barely registering how Mason leaned in to hear what the beta had to say. “He smells familiar.”

The admittance didn’t make him feel any better, and the way Scott’s body tensed certainly didn’t help, but the alpha took a breath and nodded. “Bad familiar?”

“I don’t know.” Liam tried not to let the anger consume him, tried to focus on the need to protect his friends, but the itch beneath his skin was becoming unbearable. “Bad, I think.” He groaned out, shaking his head in an attempt to fight back his increasing bloodlust, the biggest downside of getting bitten. “I don’t know anything other than the fact that it's pissing me off!”

“Liam?” Scott was by the beta’s side, hand on his arm the moment Liam squeezed his eyes shut, fists clenched by his side. He wanted to hurt himself, not just from the claws tearing up his palms, he needed more, something that would remind him that now wasn’t the time to be losing control. “Mason, go stand with Stiles.”

Mason hesitated, Liam could feel it, but a low growl from Scott managed to convince the boy that it was for the best. He wouldn’t hurt his best friend, not purposefully anyways, but Liam knew his alpha had sensed the slight fear of what he would do if he couldn’t get control. His anger only burned hotter when he realized all the attention was on him and not the potential threat or possibly injured wolf.

“We don’t have time for this.” Liam pushed out, forcing his eyes opened and staring at Scott, breathing easier when he saw the calming brown watching him.

“Guys?” Stiles called, a tinge of worry in his voice that alerted the werewolves. He pointed toward something in the distance, and when Liam looked he could see why the senior sounded scared.

There was a boy, maybe a year older than Liam limping in their direction, the amber eyes the only light alerting anyone of his presence. The stench wafted from him, fueling Liam’s anger more than he needed at that moment, but with a harsh shove, he told Scott to go. He could take care of his anger but couldn’t promise that he wouldn’t harm the boy if he tried to help, and when the stranger collapsed it was clear he needed more help than the beta.

He relaxed when Mason was by his side seconds after Scott left, his best friend looking over him as if he were searching for an injury of sorts. “I’m fine,” Liam managed to say, not once tearing his eyes away from where Scott —and shortly after, Stiles— had run off to. Their silhouettes were challenging to spot, but they didn’t stay far for long, the two struggling to bring the injured wolf over to them, and Liam’s eyes narrowed, the anger on the verge of bursting.

“Brett.” He seethed out and Mason’s entire body tensed.

Stiles frowned knowingly before helping Scott with the teen boy, the one from the prep school Liam despised so much. The anger finally made sense, and he should have felt guilty being so mad at him when he was clearly in pain, but a sick, monstrous part of Liam revelled in seeing him in pain. He clenched his fists tighter. What kind of monster thinks like that?

 _You,_ a voice taunted, and Liam snapped, the world around him turning red within seconds, and not even Mason could stop him. No one could. With one last conscious thought, he took off deep into the woods, disappearing into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language, anger-issues, minor self-harm, minor violence


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for warnings on specific chapters

There had never been anything remotely “normal” about Ronnie —or many other foster children for that matter— not even when she was a little girl. The mundane activities most schools insisted she partake in bored her, the other students feared her, and her only friend had become the social worker, Anthony Parker who she would refer to around others as Andy, a childish attempt at making the others believe she wasn’t that different.

She knew the things she enjoyed doing would be considered inappropriate for a child her age, not that six-year-old Ronnie cared much about what others thought, but there wasn’t much to enjoy in being alone. The few friends she managed to make all had a fascination for the brutal scar on her arm. They would make up stories for her since she knew nothing about it, sometimes making her sound like some heroin, and on the playground, they would act out their stories. Those few friends never lasted long, whether that be due to her sudden departure from the town, or the angry mothers who wanted their sons to have nothing to do with an orphan girl.

Every town she visited, Ronnie knew what to expect, tired of the same fearful stares and geeked out boys, of the constant pestering she would get: _What’s it like having no parents?_ _How’d you get the scar?_ _Did your parents just not love you enough?_ _What’s wrong with your arm?_ It was all too much, and no matter how badly she wanted to, she could never say anything to them. Never could answer their questions, couldn’t ask them to leave her alone, nothing. She was helpless, unable to make so much as a squeak.

The first time she ran away, she was nine. Her foster family had been lovely to her, always ensuring to include her in family activities, stayed up with her when she was too scared to sleep, and never treated her like the broken girl she was. She felt safe there, something she had only ever felt around Mr Parker, and for the first time in… as long as she could remember, there was a place she wanted to call home, a family she wanted to call hers.

It was late at night, the dark casting strange shadows on the wall, unknown noises echoing through the cold bedroom they had given her. All her life, Ronnie had been extremely jumpy, her heart constantly racing inside her chest, threatening to burst at any second, but it was always during the night when the sun no longer protected her from the dangers that lurked in the dark, that she found the fear to be unbearable.

Her trek down the stairs was one she had made every night for over three months, her movements quiet as a mouse only noticed once in the kitchen. That night her journey was cut short as the conversation from the kitchen travelled up to the staircase, right to the curious little girl who leaned over the railing, listening to what she could catch. She remembered hearing their words, a strong part of her wishing… begging… praying for it to be real, and it was that same part of her that was hit with the tsunami of panic.

They wanted to adopt her. The words came out of her mouth in a broken sob, shaking her body with a force she only felt once. Mr Parker, typically an emotionless man, tried to comfort the sobbing girl as she broke in his arms, but there was only so much he could do for a girl he would have to send away. So, he brought her to a 24-hour diner, had her join him in a booth, and taught her how to survive.

As she sat across from Corey, one finger twirling the straw around the edges of the milkshake glass, she found her thoughts wandering back to that night. To the lessons he had given her, not all that different from the ones she now attended, though back then she had no one to help her. He did all he could, but the next day she had been sent on her way with the bit of knowledge he had shared keeping her afloat. She couldn’t help the slight flutter as she looked at the boy across from her, the word still playing on repeat: friend.

She wasn’t sure why that made her feel so warm, why she even let herself feel such a way about it, aware that the moment she left the town would hurt far worse than any loneliness she had to endure. With a firm shake, she pushed back Mr Parker’s words, not wanting to let them get in the way, accepting that this would be the last town she fell apart in, not because she would close herself off and embrace the numbness she knew all too well, but because she didn’t have the strength to put herself back together again.

It all seemed to have happened so quickly, the moments that got her where she was. Her entire time in Beacon Hills had been going by in a blur, sometimes causing her chest to clench at the thought, but was it really that bad? Most towns she was able to count down the seconds that ticked by, eager to get as far away from the place as possible, but not this one. There was something so comforting about it, as if it were calling to her core, the very feeling sending shivers down her spine, not in a good way.

One minute she had been trying to learn to control her fear, not let it control her, and the next she agreed to get some milkshakes with Corey. She blamed her moment of weakness on that stupid word that held more power over her than she cared to admit. He called her his friend, not just indirectly, but to her. The confession had caught her completely off-guard, his voice along startling her, and she swore her eyes were about to pop out of their sockets.

“I meant it; you know?” He had said, glancing away from his fidgeting hands to meet her startled eyes. They had been sitting in silence, simply enjoying the time given to catch their breath, and when he spoke it had pulled her from deep within her thoughts. Her shocked expression didn’t stop him from saying it, and the way he acted told her he had been trying to decide what he planned on doing for quite some time, possibly even all day. “When I told Anthony that you were my friend. I meant it.”

If it weren’t for the demons constantly fighting in her mind, she may have smiled. No, she would have grinned. The kind that makes your cheeks hurt and you feel ridiculous because who smiles that wide? She knew the summersault her heart did made its way to her face, felt the slight lift at the corner of her lips, and Corey’s eyes lit up, all nervous energy gone. It may not have been a stupid grin, but he didn’t complain.

Corey’s outgoing personality had become contagious, and when he enthusiastically dragged her into the diner a few blocks down from the gym she failed to notice any sign of her fears or unease. For the first time in a long time, she wasn’t sure if she even had any. That maybe, just maybe, there was nothing to be afraid of. She refused to search for any, not wanting to ruin the bit of peace she finally felt even if she knew it wouldn’t last long.

A few more hours were all she asked for.

Their table fell into a comfortable silence, Corey’s quiet laughs the only noise as he went to check his phone. She closed her eyes, breathing in the mouthwatering aromas wafting from the kitchen. Corey tried to convince her to get something to eat but she had turned it down quickly, afraid that one wrong move would ruin this forming friendship. He ordered fries regardless of her silent protests, and when she stared at him with wide eyes, watching as he dipped the salty treat into his drink, his jaw hit the table.

“Please tell me you’ve tried this before?” He had said and when she shook her head he practically shoved a fry into her hand. “We need to fix that _immediately_.” He showed her the proper way to do it though, proper may not have been the proper term for the messy action or the pink dribble that trailed down his arm which he didn’t hesitate to lick up gaining a breathy laugh from the girl across from him. “Okay, maybe don’t make as big of a mess as me, but you get the idea.”

She understood the concept before the demonstration, but who was she to put an end to his overly animated movements and expressions, especially not when they were so amusing. They reminded her of Mason, the way he always turned cartoonish when he went on about something he was passionate about, or how his eyes practically glowed when he talked about Corey, or Liam even, both the boys sharing a special place in his heart. His boyfriend was no different, it seemed.

He had watched her eagerly as she dipped the fry into her vanilla shake, hesitantly taking a bite of the strange concoction. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bad, and if it weren’t for her overly sensitive teeth, she just might have done it again, but the cold had caused her to tense, disturbing the peaceful bliss that had relaxed her body. She made sure to show how much she enjoyed it, wishing there was some way to let him know it _really_ was good and that her lack of eating more had nothing to do with taste. Her throat closing —almost choking her— made things clear; that wouldn’t be happening.

The peaceful atmosphere shifted, not enough to cause her body to go rigid again, but enough for her to notice. Her eyes fluttered open and a frown tugged at her relaxed state upon seeing the way Corey’s body had tensed. She could barely hear him tapping his foot over the music as he stared down at his phone with a worried, almost blank stare. His phone vibrated in his hand, the noise startling both teens, and he wasted no time to type a response, his frown deepening.

Ronnie opened her mouth, wanting to say something, anything that would ease whatever worry was rushing through her friend, but she silently whimpered as her throat clenched in a warning. She had never hated her disability, as a few adults have referred to it in the past, more than that moment. He mumbled something under his breath, the words not entirely full, and she could barely put together what he had said. “Text me back, asshole.”

Unable to use her voice, she opted to gently nudge his bouncing leg, catching his eyes when his head snapped up. She wasn’t sure if he’d understand what she was trying to say, using an animated expression and head tilt to try and make her point clear. He squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, then opened them again trying to put on a smile. “I got a weird text from Liam.” He explained.

She nodded, playing along as if she didn’t know it was more than that. Corey and Liam weren’t entirely friends, nor were they enemies. The two just had little in common outside of Mason and never bothered searching for more. It didn’t seem like it would be unlike Corey to care about the other boy, but the anxious jittering told her there was far more to it than just a strange text from Liam.

He reached for his drink, anxiously nibbling on the straw before taking a sip. “We don’t text, ever, and this… it just isn’t like him, that’s all.” She frowned at the sound of his frustrated groan, flinching a bit when he tossed his phone onto his seat. “It’s fine, I’ll talk to him tomorrow. He can clear it up then.”

“Do you have any specific time you need to be home?” Corey asked, clearly in desperate need for a change of subject, and even more, a distraction. She shook her head, fighting back a smile when he sighed in relief. “I want to run over my schedule with my boss now that I’m taking lessons, playing lacrosse, and going to tutoring.” He groaned.

“Whoever thought that having teens get parttime jobs would be a good idea never worked the same week of finals. Not something I’d even recommend to my worst enemy.” Her breathy laugh brought a bit of a smile to his lips. “You can come if you want, I’m just going into the back office then I’ll be right back. Whichever you’re comfortable with.”

She tried to find a way to let him know she’d wait, almost mimicking his early relieved sigh when he figured it out. He got out of the booth, gently squeezing her shoulder, the first form of touch she had received from someone other than Stiles —that boy apologized after every hug, yet still proceeded to give them every time— but not a bone in her body tensed at it. If anything, it was comforting and she sent him her small smile, watching as he disappeared further into the diner.

* * *

Liam hit his head against a tree as he leaned against it, running his hands through his hair and over his face, letting out a breath of frustration. His anger had cooled off majorly, but he still didn’t feel comfortable enough returning to society. The wolf released its aggressive hold, allowing his eyes to return to their natural colour and the claws disappear, but it remained on edge, waiting for the smallest thing to tick him off, the perfect opportunity to come out again.

He closed his eyes, focusing his strength on steadying his breathing and rapid heart, repeating the mantra in his head, occasionally mumbling a few words, letting them drift off into the forest, carrying a pinch of anger with them each time. The boiling under his skin no longer felt as strong, and every little thing didn’t cause him to growl or flash his eyes. Another deep breath, sucking in the cold air that burned his lungs, and he could feel his shoulders slump against the trunk behind him.

The weather had warmed up for a few days, the change having a bit too strong of a negative effect on the beta, but that night there was a welcoming chill that bit at his skin, cooling the burn beneath his skin. He had never told anyone about his preference for the colder temperature, and outside of his stepdad, he didn’t think anyone knew, not even Mason. They would want to know why, and he wasn’t sure if there was a way to explain it that didn’t sound awful. There was only so much of the, “are you crazy?” look that he could take, and imagining it coming from his friends caused his heart to stop.

Enough had happened in the pack for Liam to feel like he fit in, but a small —loud— part of him always knew he was the freak. He could hear the students that whispered it clearer now, no longer assuming the worst but knowing it was exactly that. They all knew what he was, that he could be dangerous, and while Scott may not have a reason to be afraid of him, Liam knew everyone else should.

 _Little monster_ , that menacing voice growled, igniting the anger inside him once more. He growled at himself, a silent scold for letting that voice return when he tried so hard to shove it back inside, but all he got a twitch in his hand. The urge to punch something wasn’t one he bothered fighting, slamming his fist as hard as he could against the tree he was leaning against moments before, a frustrated shout scaring away any animals that may have been nearby.

It wasn’t enough to break the tree, thankfully, but the sharp crack and pop in his knuckle told him he managed to break a few bones. He didn’t bother shaking the pain off, relishing the way it rippled up his arm causing him to groan. The pain wasn’t unbearable, and to him, it wasn’t enough. The need to feel more controlled his every action, and if it weren’t for the snapping of a branch nearby, he would have gone for another swing, but he paused with his fist in the air, wolf an alert as he searched for any potential threat.

He sniffed the air, his ears listening closely to the sounds of nature, both senses looking for anything that didn’t belong. Part of him was stupidly hoping it would be Scott, imagined him being worried, forgetting that his alpha had better things to do than babysit his freak of a beta. His wolf growled lowly, frustrated with his distracting thoughts, as was Liam, but even with the thoughts bouncing in his head, his ear picked up a noise.

The quick thump of a heartbeat sounded too fast to be a human, but too strong to be an animal. He tuned out everything, or as much as he could, trying to home in on the fast beat. His heart flipped in his chest, a confusing wave of relief and fear hitting him. That heartbeat was one he knew all too well, and while he hoped more than anything that he could be wrong —yet, at the same time, praying he could be right— he knew who it was.

Ronnie’s heartbeat was a rhythm he had memorized.

What was she doing out in the woods? Was she alone? He hoped not, especially when he knew about the creatures that liked to roam around there at night, his kind included. Another part of him growled at the thought of someone else being with her. Why would they be walking through the woods at night? They had no business there, nor did she really but her being there didn’t light a fire inside him. If anything, it seemed to extinguish it.

His wolf quickly went silent, disappearing deep into Liam, handing over the control for the time being. There wasn’t much he agreed on when it came to his wolf, but it seemed neither of them wanted her to know. She feared enough in the world, he didn’t want to add to that by revealing the supernatural to her. The thought alone made his stomach churn.

She came into his view sooner than would have been for a human, his eyes easily adjusting in the dark and spotting her as she walked along a log, arms stretched out for balance. He moved away, further into the night where she wouldn’t be able to spot him, his eyes narrowing as he kept his eyes trained on her. Perhaps it was a little stalkerish, just watching her, and it made him feel worse once he started admiring how at peace she looked, but he wasn’t sure if showing himself was the best idea.

The moonlight, while there wasn’t much of it, managed to peak through the trees and clouds, illuminating where she walked, the blue light casting an aura around her. She seemed so relaxed, something that should have seemed odd for a teen girl wandering through the woods in the middle of the night, but none of that occurred to Liam in that moment, too consumed in that moment. He wasn’t sure if he had ever seen her that calm, where it seemed like nothing could phase her, unlike the school campus where the smallest movement left her on edge.

Any of the boiling anger that overwhelmed him was long gone, replaced by something cold, not the uncomfortable kind, but one that easily soothed the burning feeling beneath his skin. His shoulders dropped to his sides, letting go of the tension within them, his heart starting to beat at a steady pace, slower than the one he intently listened to, but to the same rhythm.

It didn’t occur to him until he had gotten home. He stayed a bit longer, hiding in the shadows to ensure Ronnie had made it to her destination safely, feeling more relaxed when he realized she was taking a shortcut to her house. She never knew he was there, though there were a few times she looked around at her surroundings, likely feeling as if she were being watched. Nothing ever came of it, and she continued to walk on in comfortable silence.

He threw himself down on his bed, bouncing a bit, the movement causing his phone to fall onto the mattress. The device took a minute to turn on —once Liam remembered he had turn it off in the first place— and had to calm himself when the screen filled with missed texts and calls. Most were from Mason and Scott, but a few texts from Stiles, each message with the words, “little runt” in them. He smiled a bit as he answered them, almost laughing when Scott called him the second he had hit send.

“Are you okay?” Scott’s voice rang through before Liam could even say anything.

“I’m fine. Just got home a few minutes ago.” He glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It had been over three hours since the woods, the exhaustion from it all beginning to hit him.

“You had me worried, kid.” Scott sighed, a tinge of guilt running through the beta. “You’re alright though? You managed to get your anger under control?” Liam’s brows furrowed, a few thoughts bouncing in his head, none of them making much sense until Scott’s voice came through again. “Did running through the woods help?”

His eyes got big, his heart thudding louder. He thought he heard Scott calling his name, likely able to hear the way Liam’s heart rate had picked up, but the beta couldn’t register much other than the word playing on repeat, over and over, calling out to be heard. The wolf inside him did not react, acting as if it had known, but Liam forgot how to breathe. _Shit, shit, shit_.

“Liam!”

 _Right, you’re on the phone._ He shook his head, the action doing nothing to clear his thoughts, and tried to say something. “Scott,” His voice was quiet, almost scared, and his alpha’s worried tone didn’t help. “How do you know what your anchor is?”

There was a pause. Too long of one for Liam’s liking. Scott cleared his throat on the other end and Liam’s body tensed as he waited. Time ticked by slowly, and when a voice finally came through it startled the young werewolf. “You’ve had an anchor before, haven’t you?” _Hayden_ was what Scott was trying not to say, and the low growl from Liam’s wolf gave him his answer. “Right, sorry. I…” He paused, too long once again, but not nearly as long. “I’m not sure how to explain it.”

Scott was fighting for the words, quiet pacing heard in the background, and frustrated sigh before anything else was said. Liam waited, rather impatiently, but he managed to hold on through it all. “I’m sure it's different for everyone,” He began, a bit of uncertainty in his voice. “For me, when my anchor was Allison, it was like a wave of calm. Like… like when you listen to your music, you said that relaxes you, gives you a distraction, right?”

“Yeah,” Liam muttered, too engrossed in what his alpha was saying to speak louder.

“It was like that, but all it took was a thought. I just had to imagine her there, hear her voice, feel her touch, and everything inside me was just… calm. Like my wolf didn’t need to be out because he was content just having her or thinking about her. Sometimes that was all it took, other times I needed her there, not just in my head, but standing in front of me, talking to me, distracting me.” Scott took a deep breath, reminiscing starting to take a toll on him, and Liam frowned. He shouldn’t have asked. “I didn’t need to wolf out whenever she was there because everything about her calmed me and my wolf.”

 _Shit_. “Scott,” Liam heard him hum, the worry in his voice back, and the beta had no doubt it had to do with the strain in Liam’s voice. “Losing your anchor, what happens?”

“You start over, in a sense. Why, what’s your anchor?” Scott got no response. “Liam…”

“Ronnie.” He breathed out, just saying her name having the calming effect on him and he winced. “I think its Ronnie.”

“Liam,” Scott said, his tone taken a more soothing effect and the beta relaxed. “That’s okay. You’re okay. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Liam nodded, not that Scott would see it, and his eyes flickered shut, exhaustion hitting him hard. “Just… try to get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning. Don’t worry about it for now, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Okay.”

“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow, Liam.”

“Okay.”

 _Shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language, minor self-hate


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings on specific chapters.

“I barely even know her!” Liam hissed, repeating the same phrase for what felt like the hundredth time.

Anger pumped through his veins, his blood boiling as he swung his lacrosse stick, the ball flying with a speed no human could manage, flinching as the ball tore right through the net, again. _Great_. He groaned, sending a glare to the stupidly fragile material that wouldn’t stop tearing, the large hole only adding fuel to the roaring fire inside him.

All night, the beta had been on edge, at least since he discovered what it was that calmed him so easily, especially when the one voice that had the power to turn him into a true monster was echoing inside his mind. Ronnie didn’t even have to do anything, and something about that had set him off. She was there, walking in the moonlit forest, a look of peace on her face that he couldn’t get stop thinking about, and that alone soothed him.

It wasn’t until that morning —after he had gotten zero sleep all night, too busy tossing and turning, fighting with the dozens of thoughts bouncing around in his head— when his mom came in at the same time as always to wake him up. He didn’t mean to snap, was trying so hard to keep it in until he had some alone time, preferably far away from humanity, but her sweet voice was too sweet, her touch too gentle, and his skin was already burning.

She almost made him stay home. He had exploded, worse than a long time, and she still acted so kindly to him. Why couldn’t she yell back? Her kindness only made him feel worse, made his wolf growl, and the noise clearly startled her because she took a step back. Never had he come crashing down so quickly, the look of fear in her eyes enough to sober him. The fire extinguished, only soft embers now, and he barely managed to convince her he would be okay to go to school. He had to, after all. There was something he needed to do.

Scott answered quickly, already on edge himself after their talk last night. He had stayed up most of the night too, and when Liam heard that he wanted to yell at his alpha for not helping him deal with it then. Neither of them was sleeping anyway, so instead of wasting their time, they could have been fixing this. His alpha, however, needed the night to figure out a few things, spending most of his time texting Deaton and getting a few answers so he could help Liam. It would be appreciated once the beta calmed down enough to think rationally again.

The two headed to school early, once Scott managed to convince Mrs Geyer that he would make sure her son eats something before class. She had never met the alpha until then, and the impression went well after she got over him riding a motorcycle. It was even harder to convince her to let Liam _on_ the bike, but Scott’s charm won over in the end, allowing the two to make it to the lacrosse field with two hours before class.

They went over a few drills, giving Liam time to let out a bit of his anger before they started talking about it. Scott learned quickly that any mention of having an anchor made something inside the beta flare, not liking it one bit, and Liam was grateful his alpha wasn’t pressuring him to talk about it. He wasn’t sure he was ready for it, at least not until he managed to get his anger under control, which could take somewhere between one hour to five months.

Lacrosse didn’t help in the calming down department, only managing to frustrate him more and more the longer they played, but it gave him time to think. He could grumble things under his breath or full-blown shout, and not once did Scott judge or comment on anything, giving the beta space to sort out his thoughts. It helped to know his alpha was there though, even if he said nothing.

What he ended up discovering after about an hour of throwing the ball back and forth, was that his anger had nothing to do with having an anchor. He didn’t know why that bothered him so much, and _that_ was what had him so fired up.

Whenever Scott talked about anchors in the past, the first few months Liam turned, it sounded like something out of those cringy romance novels. The ones that he had caught his mom reading a few times with the shirtless werewolf or vampire on the cover and some damsel clinging to their muscular chest. They always made him roll his eyes, but hearing it come from Scott wasn’t nearly as aggravating.

He made it sound so peaceful and calming, and —stupidly— Liam wondered what it would be like, but he never actually had one. Not even when he was dating Hayden, and while she did help during the full moons, her presence in the same room wasn’t enough to calm him, and a few times it made things worse having her around. For a while, he just thought an anchor wasn’t for him, and he was okay with that because who would want to put that much pressure on another individual?

And yes, his lack of knowledge about her certainly didn’t help.

Ronnie wasn’t some big mystery to be solved, though there was plenty Liam was curious about. The smallest noise or movement made her jump, her heartbeat never settled, not even when the world around them was quiet or she was wandering alone in the woods, and if it weren’t for Scott showing her around her first day none of them would even know her. No one in the pack, including the alpha, knew where she came from, why she was so terrified of her own shadow, and even what she sounded like. What they did know, is that there was something about her that called to each of them.

Stiles had been the first to say something, which caught everyone by surprise considering he was human. He didn’t have heightened senses and spent the least amount of time with her —though whenever the two did hang out he always managed to get her to smile, even if it was the ghost of one— yet he was the first to realize it. “She’s just…” He had said to them, snapping his fingers a few times as he searched for the word. “Familiar.”

That was one way of describing it. One way that they all ended up using because it fit. They didn’t know her, that much they managed to cross off, but her “aura” —as described by Lydia— pulled them in. It was comforting to be around her and, from what Liam had seen, she felt the same. She didn’t hang out with any of her other classmates, not even the ones who attempted to strike a conversation with her or invite her to sit with them. There wasn’t anything wrong with them either, they just weren’t who she chose to be around.

Liam ran a hand through his hair, waiting for Scott to finish patching up the new hole he managed to create, when he had to sit down. The anger was starting to wear off, hit hard with exhaustion, and he knew that not eating didn’t help. He moved over to the bleachers, opting to sit on the grass instead of the uncomfortable metal bench, using that as a backrest. It wasn’t long after when Scott was plopping down beside him with a huff.

“You alright?”

 _No_. Liam nodded his head, aware that his heartbeat surely gave away that he was anything but. His thoughts were overwhelmingly loud, already too much to handle on a daily, but the thought of having an anchor had sent him over a line he wasn’t aware had been drawn. One that scared him more than being bit or on a dead pool, both things that had happened in the span of a few months that very year. When had his simple life become so challenging?

 _When you were diagnosed_ , an annoying voice popped up, and he mentally told that rational side of him to shut up. It wasn’t wrong, which only pissed him off because he certainly wasn’t in the mood for anything.

“Are you ready to talk yet?”

Again, not really, but they only had half an hour until they had to head to class, so he gave a nod, wishing this would all be over with already. The day hadn’t even fully started, and he was ready to check out. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths now that he finally felt as if he could breathe again, the constant weight on his chest lightening in the cold, morning dew.

“What’s really bothering you, Liam?”

Scott spoke quietly, careful not to push too far, but neither of them would be able to focus on school in their state. Not with the beta as on edge as he his, which in turn left his alpha worried and anxious. Liam didn’t want that; he didn’t want to be the reason Scott didn’t sleep last night or cause his alpha to worry. He hated being the problem, but he always was. No matter what he tried to do or how he tried to fix it, Liam would always be the problem.

“You said,” Liam took a deep breath, still not entirely sure why this anchor business had him so on edge but talking about it with Scott always helped clear things up. He just hoped it would work this time. “You said Allison was your anchor before she died?” Scott nodded sadly, intently watching as Liam tried to find what he was trying to say. “How did you recover when she wasn’t your anchor anymore?”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Scott asked softly, a frown tugging on his lips when the beta nodded. “Does this have anything to do with Hayden?” His heart sank in his chest at the mention of her name, and it only tightened when he shook his head, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see his alpha’s reaction. This was one topic he preferred to avoid, but after last night he knew it would be one they had to talk about. “Your dad?”

There wasn’t much anyone knew about Liam’s father, and a few months after joining the pack they learned it was a topic best-avoided thanks to a particular born wolf. Scott knew the man was never around, that Liam had no good memories with the man, and was diagnosed with IED during his junior year of college. That was all the beta had been willing to share, all he wanted to think about because the rest either hurt too much or lit a fire inside him that was impossible to put out. At least, he _thought_ it was impossible, until last night.

He never wanted to be pitied, which was exactly what happened when people at his middle school found out. Mason was the only kid who never said anything about it, likely noticing how much it affected his best friend, and that was just one of the many reasons the two clicked so well. Not only had Mason not feared him when rumours started about his disorder, but he didn’t pity him either. And, while he didn’t like either of those, Liam would much rather be feared than pitied.

Scott sighed beside him, and the pain in his breath caused Liam to squeeze his eyes shut even tighter. He didn’t want to see the pained look on his alpha’s face that he no doubt put there. The gentle squeeze on his shoulder was too much anyway, and if it had come from anyone else, Liam would have told them off, but this was Scott. There was no ulterior motive in his actions, just the deep-seated need to help and comfort everyone.

“I can’t promise you that Ronnie won’t leave,” Scott started, a hint of uncertainty in his voice and he had to take another breath before continuing. “She’s not like Hayden, and I doubt she’s anything like your dad…” Liam nodded slowly, letting him know he was listening. “I don’t understand what you’re going through, and I’m not entirely sure you do either, but I want you to know that not everyone is going to leave you. I won’t, Mason won’t, Stiles won’t… the entire pack is here for you no matter what. No matter what, Liam.”

Liam didn’t even know how desperately he needed to hear those words —needed the confirmation and reassurance— until his entire body relaxed upon hearing them. Was his fear that profound that he didn’t realize how bad it was until now? He knew it was there, noticed it when his stepdad first entered his life, but outside of his family and Mason, he didn’t have anyone. None of his friends was ever important enough to have him terrified of losing them.

Up until the issues with the berserkers he hadn’t even felt that fear, but it was there, lurking in the back, always waiting for everyone to leave him. They all would one day, even Scott would realize he wasn’t worth the trouble. That thought bounced around a few more times until there was another gentle squeeze on his shoulder before the beta was pulled into a side hug.

“We’ve got your back, Liam.” Scott reassured, and Liam didn’t bother fighting the urge to lean into the kind gesture. He would scold himself for being soft later, but for now, he needed this more than he needed to act tough. One second with his walls down wouldn’t kill him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He felt better the rest of the morning, he really did. Nothing inside him flared up or fluttered, no unwanted feelings for a specific green-eyed girl who he hadn’t seen all day —not that he was trying _not_ to see her, she just wasn’t around. Everything felt normal, something he needed that day to calm down, but his relaxed state didn’t last. Not that he ever thought it would in their hectic town where nothing could be normal for five seconds, especially not for the McCall pack.

Stiles, the loudmouth he was, had stopped by Corey’s locker to let him know and Mason know what was going on with Brett who —disappointingly— was doing fine and would be up and about that same day. The mention of the born wolf who always managed to rub Liam the wrong way, even when they went to the same school and were on the same team, had set him off, lighting that fire that was his anger, the flames quickly bursting into a boiling wave of heat that knocked the breath out of him.

The thought of his anchor didn’t return until that moment. When his fists were clenched and his wolf was seconds away from breaking something, preferably Brett’s face but he was at Deaton’s clinic, protected by mountain ash and the emissary himself, he felt it. First, it was just something cold in him, something that soothed the fire as if it were a burn on his skin.

His senses kicked in, spotting the fast-paced heartbeat he knew so well, all his thoughts homed in on the rhythm it created, the beat calming his own racing heart and distracting him from the conversation between Stiles, Mason, and Corey. He closed his eyes, unknowingly taking deep breaths as the sound grew closer, and he barely realized that she was heading their way when he felt it; the soft, gentle touch against his hand.

It startled him, the cold skin against his almost feverish one, but the cold felt nice in contrast and he couldn’t help but crave more. He glanced down at his side, relaxing even more when he was met with the green eyes looking up at him. Her brows furrowed in concern, her fingers barely brushing against his white knuckles, but the featherlight touch had him releasing his painful grip, no claws or blood in sight, and his eyes didn’t flicker, staying their natural blue tone.

Ronnie was his anchor, he had no doubt now as he got lost in the forest of her eyes, watching as the grey fog rolled in, dancing in the leaves and creating a bit of sparkle high up in the trees. He doubted she knew the effect she had, how her barely-there touch managed to put out the always there fire raging inside him. How her eyes had him forgetting why he was so against having her as his anchor, because not a single bone in his body wanted to fight it now, and he almost whimpered when she pulled her hand away, even if he could barely feel it to begin with.

“Hey,” He breathed out, not even struggling to smile down at her.

She returned the gesture in her own way, her lips curling up, that ghost of a smile just slightly more visible now, and he smiled even wider, consumed in the brightness around her. Her aura, Lydia had called it, and he could see it now. He may not have understood why, of all people, she had become his anchor in the month they had known her, but at that moment, he wasn’t complaining.

It would hit him later, once he was alone with his thoughts. The fact that he had an anchor, someone he had to rely on to stay sane. That same someone that had all the power to break him without even trying. How all she has to do is leave for Liam to completely fall apart.

For now, all he could do was get lost in her, and he didn’t bother fighting it because he wanted to. He wanted to forget about the thousands of thoughts constantly racing through his head, forget why having an anchor terrified him —and he knew now that his anger was fueled by fear— and feel the calm sensation that she gave him just by being there, standing by his side, looking up at him with those eyes that he couldn’t look away from.

He didn’t look away when she did, taking the moment to truly admire her. To trace over every feature, committing it to memory so he could conjure her in his head whenever he needed his anchor, not caring to think too much on how quickly he had accepted that was what she was. He watched as she fidgeted with her sleeves, the fabric of her sweater damp near the ends where her fingers gripped on, fighting the urge to chew on it like he had seen her do so many times. Watched as she rocked on the balls of her feet.

She glanced back up at him under her eyelashes, and he heard the way her heart hiccupped, or possibly even fluttered. He wasn’t sure, but whatever it was had his heart doing a flip of its own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language, abandonment issues, anger-issues, self-doubt


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy holidays everybody! Really quickly, before we get into the story, I am going to be doing a loose posting schedule. So, starting today, I will be posting every Friday and maybe Monday depending on how I've done with writing. That being said, thanks for bearing with me and let's get into the chapter. 
> 
> See the end notes for warnings on specific chapters

Ronnie tried to control her breathing; she really did. She tried to fill her lungs until she knew that lightheaded filling would go away, but pain shot through her when she tried. A silent whimper ripped her open, shaking her already vibrating body. Cold sweat dripped down her forehead, dripping onto her bare shoulder, causing her to jump, her eyes widening even more with the fear that already held control over her entire body, of her mind.

 _Pathetic_ , a voice spat, the cold venom sounding foreign, but she knew to be her own. Or, at least, what she imagined it would sound, but outside of Mr Parker, she spoke to no one. She wasn't allowed to, not with that crippling fear holding her voice hostage, refusing to ever give it back, at least not as long as she lives. That voice was undeniably hers; she had no doubt about it. Only one other person ever spoke to her with such malice and they certainly didn't haunt her during the day, nor the few nights she managed to sleep.

Her nightmares were nothing new, just another obstacle preventing her from catching more than a few hours of sleep a week. That didn't stop her from holding her legs flush against her chest, didn't stop her from digging her nails into her arm. From clutching onto her skin, digging her nails into it, deeper and deeper as her heart refused to settle to a more tolerable pace. It didn't stop her from cutting the skin, from bleeding onto her already blood-stained sleep shirt, just to feel the pain and know that she wasn't dreaming anymore.

 _This is real, it's all real, and no one is hurting you._ She repeated that, over and over again, hoping that maybe, eventually, she would actually believe it. _You're real, that isn't._ And again. She did it until the familiar, overwhelming panic faded back into a slight tension in her chest, and her body nearly collapsed under the weight of her exhaustion.

Three more months. Just three more until she could get some minor idea of sleep, even if that were resting her eyes for an hour, her brain refusing to shut off. Anything, at this point, would be better than the nothingness she was receiving. One hour was all she asked for and all she was ever brave enough to ask for.

She slowly released the grip on her arm, her body too numb to register the blood trickling down her arm. Eyes glazed over but she could still see through them, Ronnie glanced down at the new set of marks near her shoulder, slightly adjacent to the scars from the many years of repeating that same process. Her fingers brushed over the marks, wiping the blood away from the deep crescents, not flinching by a fresh wave of pain crashing into her, effectively knocking the little bit of air she had out of her system.

In the dark room, she could barely make out the silhouette of the curtains dancing under the breeze from the ceiling fan. She tried to catch a glimpse of the sun or moon, her legs far too shaky and weak for her to actually get up and check, yet she failed to see anything. It couldn't have been much past 4 am, but certainly not any earlier than that. Her dreams hardly ever woke her up so quickly into her slumber, granting her at least an hour to sleep. An hour to see everything, to feel everything, to get lost in the world she knew wasn't real yet always fell prey to.

It would be another two hours before her morning self-defence lessons. She ached at the thought, her fear only growing. Mr Parker would see right through her disguise. He knew when the nightmares hit, not because he had ever borne witness to the sheer terror she felt in the aftermath, but because no family ever wanted to keep a grown girl who wouldn't sleep through the night. At least, that was their excuse, but no one wanted to be responsible for a foster child near the holiday seasons.

Her body no longer shook as violently, dying down to a mere shiver but nothing that would draw unwanted attention or make the Márquez's raise an eyebrow. She unravelled herself from the position she was in, releasing the hold on the back of her neck, unwrapping her arms from around her body, and swinging her legs over the bed. A minor wave of dizziness blurred her sight, and everything ached, screaming to be given more time to relax, but she pushed through both as she got onto her legs, using the mattress as support until she could hold herself.

The trek to the bathroom wasn't a long or risky one. Just straight across the hall. She didn't worry about making a sound, knowing she mastered that skill long ago and was able to slip in without making a single noise, not even the bottom of her feet padding on the hardwood floor. There was no creek in the door as she closed it, and she didn't bother with the light, letting her eyes adjust to the pitch black. If anyone were to walk by and see the light, it would raise suspicion which was certainly the last thing she needed.

A shiver ran down her spine as the cold air of the bathroom prickled her skin. She welcomed the feeling, her feverish skin thankful for the chill, though her mind certainly wasn't a fan. There would be more time to continue with her panic, but for now, she focused on rummaging through the cabinets until she found a mini first aid.

They had no bandages in their guest bathroom for reasons she didn't bother trying to understand, but in every room, there were first aids, including her own. If she hadn't run out of bandages already, she wouldn't have bothered going to the bathroom, but her nightmares had gotten worse and so had the crescents on her arm.

She applied a bit of ointment, remembering the lengthy scolding she had gotten when she wound up in the hospital because of infection. Mr Parker had never been more furious with her, and the rest of the day was filled with silence. He taught her how to patch herself up after that, even if there was nothing for her to use. A torn piece of cloth worked nicely, and even tissues and an elastic band could work if she had either. His strictest rule; clean the wound before doing anything.

The blood on her sleeve was —unsurprisingly— difficult to get out. If the Márquez's left her alone like most of the families she stayed at instead of checking on her in the morning, she would have let it be. Her sleep shirt was covered with enough stains as it was, most blood from her arms but there were dirt and juice, among many other things. She should have thrown it out long ago, but she only had the one sleep shirt. The stains, torn long sleeves, and holey chest would have to do, and if she were only sleeping in it, it wasn't that horrendous. No one would ever see it anyway.

This couldn't be the case with the Márquez's. They would see the fresh blood on her sleeve and collar, the faded grey colour not doing much to hide it, and that would raise questions. Questions that she was incapable of asking for a list of reasons, the biggest one being she couldn't. Thankfully, no family had come up with the idea of sign language —Ronnie had studied it when she was staying with a tad violent family, choosing to hide out in the library where she ran out of other material to read and reached for that book, spending weeks teaching herself the language and continuing the practice long after— or the form of communication with a piece of paper or other devices.

Liam had been the first to come up with that.

She slid out of the bathroom and into the hall where she stood, just listening for anything. The muffled snores coming from the master bedroom confirmed that they were asleep, and her late-night adventures proved that the couple slept like the dead. With one last check to make sure they wouldn't be waking up soon, she knocked on the wall, cringing at the echo. The snores continued.

Mrs Márquez had shown Ronnie where the laundry room was shortly after realizing the girl wore the same thing every day, even wasted her time to teach Ronnie how to wash her clothes as if she had never done so before. The lessons were proving to come in handy now as she crept down the stairs soundlessly, going to the office sized room and grabbing the peroxide from the shelf, climbing off the counter without making a single noise.

An hour had passed by the time she finished cleaning up, not once being disturbed by the sleeping couple upstairs. Ronnie slipped back on her shirt, ignoring the damp feeling against her skin, and she started to make her way back to the room where she could hide until morning when her lessons would distract her until she was alone later that night. She never made it to the staircase, a noise she wasn't familiar with catching her attention and causing the hair on her neck to raise.

Her body tensed as Mrs Márquez responded, not a hint of the woman Ronnie thought she knew. She spoke harshly, spitting out the words in a tone not unknown to Ronnie, but not one she ever imagined Mrs Márquez to possess. The woman always seemed so kind and gentle, yet she spoke with a bite, and only then did the words register.

"—confirmation." The stranger had said, eliciting an uproar from Mrs Márquez.

"And you will get confirmation when I have it." Mrs Márquez hissed. Ronnie moved into the darkest parts of the house, walking through the shadows until she reached the wall the voices were loudest by; the office, the one room in the entire house she was forbidden to go near let alone enter. "My husband and I have been doing this job a lot longer than you, Ricardo. We _will_ find this alpha before the end of the year, and we _will_ put him and the rest of his pack down like the monsters they are."

Something about the stranger's voice made Ronnie's fears flare into something violent, the deep rumble and venom laced words forcing her to clench her fists. She didn't know this emotion well, but the overwhelming sense to protect wasn't one she had never felt before, and there was no doubt in her mind this feeling wasn't directed toward Mrs Márquez or the man she called Ricardo.

"How about your little 'trainee'?" Ricardo asked with a hint of distaste in the last word, the clear dislike causing Ronnie to lean closer. "Is she everything you hoped she would be? Have you told her everything, showed her what creeps in the dark and kills under the moonlight?"

"She isn't ready." Mrs Márquez said plainly. "It will be soon, before the holidays. If the pack goes to the high school, like we suspect it does, she will be the perfect addition to our team." There was a low snicker, likely Ricardo's, and a growl from Mrs Márquez. "The girl looks sweet and innocent, and that fear in her eyes will be the perfect cover. Once she learns how to control it, how to use it to her advantage, we'll have ourselves a fierce warrior perfect for moulding. This true alpha will have no choice but to trust her, and when he does, we'll have a new collection to our trophies."

Ronnie felt her blood run cold. Were they... no, that wasn't possible. They couldn't be... could they be? She wrapped her arms around her chest, her body shivering but not from the cold, though that certainly wasn't helping, and at some point, she had stopped breathing, or perhaps she never even started. Either way, there were spots in her vision, and she had to use the wall to rest her head against, too engrossed in this conversation to do the wise thing and take a breath.

"It's been over a month, Marcella. You spent a week with me when you finally told me—"

" _You_ were a different case." Mrs Márquez snapped and there was a noise Ronnie could only assume was the results of a shove, Ricardo likely the one who collided with the wall and knocked over a picture frame. "It's taken me this long to build her trust and we barely have that. She is fragile, but Alvaro has faith. He believes she will be our strongest fighter and most skilled manipulator. We just need more time."

"We don't have time!" Ricardo's voice echoed in the room, startling Ronnie but she was too weak and consumed to back away from the source of her fear. She leaned towards it. "We have nothing on the alpha, or his pack, other than the nurse but she may prove to be useless—"

"Melissa McCall is close to the pack; I do not doubt that." Mrs Márquez cut in.

 _McCall?_ Ronnie's heart stopped beating. They couldn't possibly be referring to Scott's family, could they? Is he somehow involved? No. Could he be? Involved in what, though. She pressed her palms against her head, applying a bit of pressure in hopes of getting rid of her growing headache.

"But that doesn't mean these monsters will do anything when it comes to her. She likely just licks their wounds, nothing more."

"Which is why I believe the most strategic course would be the beta." Mrs Márquez said. "We find who the alpha has bitten and use them as leverage. The bond between an alpha and its beta is strong, murderous monster or not. If we find it, we find the alpha, and we find the pack."

Ricardo scoffed. "So that's the plan then? Just find one lousy, pathetic beta?" He laughed, and not a pleasant one either. It was cold. "The Argents couldn't even put down this pack, and they are far better than you and your husband will ever be. What makes you think this will work?"

"Because we have something the Argents didn't." Mrs Márquez hissed quietly, Ronnie barely able to catch the words. Her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest the noise was almost muffled by the thumping. "We know the alpha is notorious for being weak, taking in lost little strays. Strays like orphans. Scared, lost, little orphans who just want to be cared for. Orphans with wide, fearful eyes and a constant aroma of anxiety.

"Orphans like our little Ronda Denver."

* * *

Malia glared out the window, her eyes locked on the clinic they had parked outside of. She glared at the smells wafting from the building, each one overpowering the other, making it almost impossible for her to get a decent idea on what they were walking into. The growling dogs and hissing cats were too noisy to catch any hushed talking, if there was any, and all the heartbeats thumping together caused her brain to twitch.

If he were there, the were-coyote would have glared at Scott too, him being the reason she was there to begin with. He was supposed to go with Stiles, the two planning on talking to the born wolf they had run into, but a call from Argent had become more important and using his stupid puppy eyes, he asked Malia to in his place. She would have said no, maybe kick him between the legs just to prove her point, but not even failing another math test could piss her off enough to do that.

She glared at Stiles instead, telling herself that was as closed to Scott as she would get, and the asshole actually _smiled_ back at her, erupting a growl from deep inside her. He was too unphased by her sour mood, just like he always was, and she only grew grumpier when she couldn't find it in her to be pissed at the stupid, giddy boy for too long.

With a slam of the door, Malia sent him her middle finger, pretending not to hear him _laughing_ as she stomped into the vet clinic. She needed to kill someone, or at least maim them, she wasn't too picky at the moment. If it weren't for Stiles, for his hand coming to her shoulder and pulling her back to stand beside him, or how he slipped his hand into hers, intertwining their fingers together and gently squeezing, she would have gone searching for Deaton or the born wolf.

"Deaton, you here man?" Stiles called out. He cast Malia a glance, his smile growing for some reason she couldn't understand but she still found herself getting lost in. She couldn't help but smile back, even leaned forward and pecked his lips.

"I'm glad you two are here." Deaton's voice rang through the air before he appeared in the doorway. He sent them both a smile as he pulled open the counter door, gesturing for them to come inside. Malia led the way, not letting go of Stiles's hand in hers, and waited for the doctor in the hallway like room. "Brett is doing better, but I'm afraid he's refused to tell _me_ anything. He asked to speak to Scott directly, but I've managed to convince him to speak to the both of you."

"Lucky us." Malia muttered, adding a roll of her eyes to the mix. She was in far too foul of a mood for any of this.

"He's right this way."

Stiles tugged her with him, talking to Deaton who opted to stay in the hall, explaining his reasoning even though Malia didn't care and wasn't even pretending to pay attention. Her hand slipped from Stiles's, her chest tightening at the loss of contact, but she relaxed once more when his hand was against her lower back, ushering her into the room as he closed the door behind them.

Sitting on the operating counter, bright eyes trained on them, was the born wolf. Malia could smell it on him, her nose scrunching at the scent. It wasn't unpleasant, not even the strong whiff of essential oils on his wrists and behind his ears, the scent even strong enough for Stiles to notice, his own nose scrunching up in distaste. She couldn't explain why she didn't like the smell or why her coyote tensed up with him around, but the were-coyote wasn't a fan of anyone threatening her pack, and that was exactly what he was to her.

"Hey, Brett." Stiles said, moving to stand between Malia and Brett as if he could smell her chemosignals, but Scott had explained to her multiple times that human senses weren't heightened, that they couldn't smell it like supernatural beings. She didn't understand but stopped questioning it. "Is there a reason you aren't wearing a shirt... or pants?"

"Didn't like the way jeans felt on my stitches." Brett stated plainly, only just now drawing attention to his near nakedness. Malia recalled that was considered inappropriate, but he wasn't bare, his boxers were still on and covering the "naughty bits" —as explained poorly by a very awkward, uncomfortable Stiles— so she thought that was okay. "And healing isn't always the most comfortable thing ever. Your skin gets itchy and hot, and no one wants to be wearing clothes through that process."

"Why can't you put some on now?"

"Am I distracting you, Stiles?"

The born wolf had one brow raised, his eyes scanning over Stiles as if he were the wolf's prey, and Malia's fists closed, claws snapping out and into her palms. This wolf was actually _flirting_ with him, and if that wasn't worse enough, Stiles got _flustered!_ It wasn't for long, just a moment of shock more than anything, but it was enough to have Malia's eyes flickering blue and her coyote pacing, eager to sink her teeth into the wolf and tear him apart limb by limb.

Who did this wolf think he was? Stiles was _hers_ , not his. Her coyote growled in agreement, the possessive side of her darkening more as the wolf continued to eye fuck her boyfriend. She bared her fangs, seconds away from tearing his throat out, but she dug her claws in further, giving Stiles just enough time to realize what was going on. He jumped into action, pulling Malia into the corner of the room, soothing her, and eventually assuring that he was hers, that Brett stood zero chance, and that she could take out all her jealousy once they got home.

That promise relaxed her enough to not have to be chained to an electric barbed wire.

Brett was clearly amused by what he just saw, his smug expression telling her he liked the reaction he got. She almost gave up on trying not to slaughter him, but Stiles took her hand in his and stepped between the two again, rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of her hand, distracting her enough to remain in control. For now, but the born wolf was pushing her buttons, and he was getting awfully close to the "homicidal coyote" one.

"I like your girlfriend, Stiles." Brett chuckled. "She keep you on your toes? Keep you out of trouble?"

"I'd argue talking to you isn't keeping anyone out of trouble." Stiles said.

"But your alpha wants answers and I have them." Brett glanced over at Malia whose eyes had, miraculously, returned to their bronze tone. "Am I close?" She growled at him, and the born wolf smirked. "The only reason I'm telling either of you this is because I know Scott can keep you two safe. The rest of Beacon Hills, not so sure."

"Safe from what?" Malia asked, far passed annoyed by this wolf and moving into territory he didn't want to be in. "What happened out there in the woods? Who attacked you?"

"Your little beta almost did." Brett looked up as if he were remembering a fun time, shaking his head in amusement. "Hunters, _coyote_ , what else?"

"Her name's Malia." Stiles said, his hand tightening around hers for his own sake. She could smell the annoyance on him, the scent almost equal to his anxious cologne. "What kind of hunters? Did you see anyone specific? Do you have anything _actually useful_ for us?"

"Ask your banshee." Brett looked between the two as if it were obvious and Malia hated the way her heart sank in her chest. What did Lydia have to do with this? She glanced at Stiles, the feeling worsening at the minor look of horror that flashed in his eyes. "These hunters," —he shook his head— "they aren't just good. They know how to read people, how to use their thoughts and emotions against them. They're possibly even worse than the Argents."

Malia was intrigued. She had heard stories about the Argents, at least before Chris had come onto their side, and they weren't good. Almost worse than the ones she heard of Peter Hale. "Worse than the Argents?" The born wolf nodded, but that wasn't good enough for her. "How?"

Brett's smirk faltered. "The Argents were known for having a code, something they lived by and followed. It made them more human than the other hunters, but not by much. These hunters... they take pleasure in turning people into monsters. Of watching those same people take lives: wolf, or human. They don't care about who gets in their way, about unnecessary casualties. Their minds are wired to fight in a war, and not a pretty one. They will kill anyone who is even remotely close to a wolf, even if that person has no clue about the supernatural."

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he tried to control himself, but Malia could smell the grief on him. She frowned, not by much, but enough that Stiles caught it and gave her hand a light, reassuring squeeze. "They call themselves the Seraphs."

"Seraphs?" Stiles cocks a brow. "As in an angel?"

"An angel of high ranking, to be exact, but yes, I'm fairly sure that was what they were going for. My point is, if they find out your little 'pack' goes to the high school," —he looked down at his hands with a frown that almost made Malia pity him— "there won't be anything stopping them from burning it to the ground with everyone trapped inside."

"Holy fuck." Malia muttered, her eyes growing wider at the thought. How many innocent humans would be killed?

"That's not even the worst part." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language, referenced violence, referenced nightmares


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings for specific chapters.

Liam rolled his eyes, pretending to cringe when Corey came over to the lockers to steal a kiss from his boyfriend. It had become a routine for the couple, something that Liam learned to expect and deal with, but that never stopped him from teasing them or finding ways to complain about their never-ending PDA. He let out an overly dramatic when Mason found himself pinned against the locker next to his, the boy deepening the kiss purely to annoy the beta who was rightfully flipped off by his best friend.

He hid his smile behind his hand, managing to hold back his laugh that would have easily revealed that he wasn’t actually annoyed every time Mason and Corey were being all romantic, instead trying to divert his attention to anything that wasn’t the two making out. Not that there was much else to look at. They were surrounded by horny, hormonal teenagers sucking off the face of their partner, some seconds away from tearing off each other’s clothes in the middle of the hallway and likely about to end up in the parking lot or a closet.

The first few months back to school he couldn’t look at those things. There was always a pinch of envy that crept inside, starting his mornings with that sour feeling, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered today. He didn’t force himself to stare at his feet until his best friend was done or pretend to be texting. For the first time since his break-up, it didn’t hurt.

Mason said something, his voice a telling sign that the two were —momentarily— done making out, and he turned his attention back to the couple. He didn’t hide his smile this time, watching the two interact while he stood a few feet away, giving them enough space that they don’t feel awkward, not that either of them ever did. With Corey being shamelessly into Mason, there wasn’t much the two could do to hide their blatant feelings for the other. All it took was a flirtatious comment from Corey and Mason was putty in his hands.

Corey kept his hands firmly placed on Mason’s hips, peppering kissing on his neck while he rummaged through his locker, only turning back to say something to Corey. Liam should have felt awkward watching, but for once he let himself admire it. He knew Corey wasn’t treated the greatest at home, and while Mason’s family was supportive they weren’t the biggest on showing affection. The two worked in their own way, giving each other what the other didn’t have. It used to bother Liam, but not today. Today, he was too calm to be bothered by anything.

There was a time, back when Mason and Corey first started hooking up, where he wasn’t entirely fond of the idea. He panicked when he realized what that would mean for his friendship with Mason, and when he met Corey he tried more than anything to hate him, which, for a while, he managed to do. After a while, he had formed a truce with Corey, the two bonding over how much their care and worry about Mason and have since been more tolerant of the other's presence. Liam knew how much that meant to his best friend, so he continued to keep up the peace as long as it made Mason happy.

That alone seemed like a good enough reason for Liam.

He shoved his hands in his pocket, taking the time of his third-wheeling to scan the hall for the pack. Scott had texted him the night before, explaining that he wasn’t sure if he would be at school, but promised to let him know in the morning. Morning had come and still nothing from his alpha. Liam wasn’t all that worried after getting a text from Kira who said she would see him at practice with her signature cat emoji at the end. She may not have been his alpha, but he knew she was close with him and if anything were wrong, she would know.

Turning the corner, he spotted Lydia, smiling at the strawberry blonde who was lost in some notebook, writing something down and almost bumping into another kid not paying attention. When she looked up he got her attention, the two waving at each other. He didn’t know if she would know anything, but he thought he would ask anyways. She had spent the night with Parrish down at the station, the two supposedly looking into something for Scott, but Liam never did get the specifics.

The pack had been trying to keep Liam, Mason, and Corey out of the loop, claiming that they were trying to protect them and give them a chance at a normal freshman year. He appreciated it at first, enjoying the time where he didn’t have to worry about berserkers or were-jaguars, but with them all running around, clearly worried, he no longer felt so good about it. Scott said he would tell him if something was wrong, or if they needed his help, but Liam was learning quickly that he didn’t like being out of the loop. Not one bit.

“Hey Liam!” Lydia chirped. “You see Malia by any chance? I was supposed to lend her my notebook, but we never got the chance to see each other last night.”

“No, I haven’t seen anyone except you.” He said, a hint of worry in his tone that she easily caught on to if her frown was any indication. “Is everything okay? You all seemed pretty busy last night. Did Scott learn anything from Argent?”

Her frown deepened. “He hasn’t told you?” He shook his head. “Stiles wanted to talk to you last night, but Scott said we should look into it more before jumping to conclusions.”

“Jumping to what conclusions?”

“Scott said he will explain everything as soon as he knows more. We all agreed you should know this. He went with Stiles to check something but the two are supposed to be here later today, around lunchtime I think. You can ask them then or—” Her attention drifted to something behind him and her worried frown flipped into a bright smile. “Ronnie!”

From her name alone, Liam’s heart did an involuntary dance that tugged at his lips, begging to break out into a smile. He shook his head, cringing at how silly he was acting over a _name_ , but he couldn’t stop himself from turning around, facing the girl tied to it. She had just approached them, her backpack lazily swung over her shoulder, sleeves covering her hands, and her eyes cast down toward the ground.

At first, there was nothing abnormal about her behaviour, but when she got closer he noticed it; her pale skin, the dark crescents under her eyes, how her sleeve hanged off her shoulder a bit, her collarbone quite noticeable and revealing just how thin she was. When she finally looked up at them, that ghost of a smile on her lips seeming less there today, his chest tightened. She had been crying, her eyes still bloodshot, nose still red, and a thin layer of sweat stuck to her forehead.

“Are you feeling alright?” Lydia asked, stepping closer to Ronnie who hardly hesitated to flinch back. Liam thought he was going to get sick. She hadn’t flinched in a week, possibly even longer, and when she did it was when the bell rang, or a stranger bumped into her. Ronnie hardly reacted to how close any of them got to her anymore, and that look of fear in her eyes was so profound in the grey smoke that consumed any hint of green. “Ronnie, is everything okay?”

She hardly nodded, the movement too small to notice from a glance, and her grip on her backpack tightened. Corey was the only one who managed to get relatively close to her, though even the distance between the two seemed unbearably much. He got close enough to pull her sleeve back over her shoulder, the movement one she followed closely but didn’t pull away from like Liam had expected her to do. Her eyes flickered up to Corey’s, the two having some mental conversation, but by the time Corey took a step back, he looked as if he wanted to cry.

Liam made the mistake of listening to her heartbeat, the speed of it hurting more than it ever had. She was mere seconds away from having a panic attack, that much he knew, but the difference between her having one and Mason was that Liam could actually get close to his best friend. Ronnie’s panic only worsened the closer people got. How could he do anything to help when he had to stay a minimum of five feet away at all times?

“Ron,” He didn’t know why he spoke so softly, or why when she looked at him he relaxed, but he didn’t want to think about either of those. Not right that second, at least. She took a breath, a painful to hear one, and he could tell she hadn’t taken one in far too long. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

There had been no thought process when he spoke, or whenever she was around it seemed, and not a second after was he wishing he could take it back. He held his breath, watching her closely for any hint of fear, but a hint of emerald poked through the smoke, lighting up her eyes with just that speck, and he released his breath as she nodded. Her brows were furrowed a bit in her confusion, but there was no fear, and that was enough for him to gesture her to follow him into Mr Yukimura’s classroom.

Lydia gave him a nod, her silent way of letting him know they would give them space, and she dragged Mason and Corey away, likely to explain something she knew that none of them did. He didn’t pay much attention after that, closing the door to the classroom and turning to find Ronnie looking at something on a desk. Her shoulders no longer looked as stiff, but her heart continued to race at a pace he would never feel comfortable hearing and her hand had yet to release her backpack.

Mr Yukimura was never in his classroom in the mornings, which Liam was awfully grateful for in that moment, but he sent Kira a text regardless, requesting that she keeps her dad out of his class until further notice. She replied instantly with a thumbs up. With everything handled, he slipped his phone into his pocket and watched Ronnie from a distance, searching for something to say.

He kept quiet longer than he anticipated, but the silence was surprisingly peaceful, and as he watched her move around the classroom he noticed she had relaxed immensely. The crowded halls probably hadn’t helped, and all the noises seemed to overwhelm her, so the quiet and emptiness must have been refreshing. Her knuckle was no longer white, the grip around her backpack strap loosening more until she slumped into a chair, her eyes flickering over to Liam with a head tilt.

She wanted him to talk, he realized. He cleared his throat, pushing himself off the wall he leaned against at some point —not entirely sure when, but he imagined it was while he was lost in his head— and took a seat across from her. Her eyes watched him, not once widening with that familiar look of fear when he sat closer than he originally thought he would, and he assumed it was because the two sat behind each other in a few classes. This was a normal distance for the two, so he tried to stop overthinking and focus on the girl beside him, turning in his chair until he was facing her.

The green in her eyes had come back, swirling around in the pool of grey, poking through the dark storm clouds as if they were gems hidden in a dark cave. He smiled a bit. She didn’t look nearly as pale as she had in the hall, and now that she was sitting he realized she was exhausted. Her body was leaning on her backpack that had been moved into her lap, her dark circles more profound under the classroom lights, and her eyes fluttered close every so often.

“Did you not get much sleep?” He asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to see how she would react. Her shoulders tensing shouldn’t have come as a surprise. It still caused his chest to tighten and his smile to falter, but he kept it up so she wouldn’t catch on. The last thing he wanted is for her to feel bad for being the cause of his worry. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A hint of amusement danced in her eyes, making the green shine brighter. She raised a brow, the action clearly difficult to do with her energy levels, but she moved her arms from around her backpack and searched for something inside the bag. He watched as she pulled out a notebook, the leather worn and torn in places, crayon and pencil marks decorating the cover, two initials carved into the spine: R.D. Her fingers absently brushed across the letters as she flipped it open.

He could have easily grabbed his phone out of his pocket, but something about watching her write, the way her eyes narrowed in concentration, her lower lip pulled between her teeth, it all brought a smile to his lips. She set the pencil in the middle before handing the book over to him, resting her head on the desk, turned to watch as he read over her words, a minor shake in the writing, but otherwise beautiful.

_Talking isn’t exactly one of my skill sets._

She smiled at him when he looked toward her, a clearly tired one, but as close to the real thing that he had ever seen. He felt ashamed of his own handwriting as he scribbled back a response, almost erasing it to write neater but he left it, not wanting her to know of his insecurity.

_Is that a challenging topic?_

It was a question on his mind since he met her. Why doesn’t she talk? Has she ever? Is it just a thing she does at school or everywhere? The list went on, but he never worked up the courage to ask, and now certainly wasn’t the best time to do it. She had something on her mind, something that was weighing her down, that was making her skin deathly pale and her heart race, but that glimmer of amusement he saw when he mentioned talking had given him the courage to ask. Maybe it was a topic she was more open to then he assumed, and if not he would drop it.

Either way, he had to know. He handed her back the notebook and searched her face for any sign that he went too far. There was none that he could see, and when she wrote down a response so easily, not giving it much thought, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

_What, not being able to talk? Not really._

He nodded to himself, jotting down his next question, wording it a bit too carefully, but he needed to make sure he didn’t make her uncomfortable. When he glanced over at her, still writing the last few words, he let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. She looked peaceful, even with her racing heart —though the beat had settled to more of her normal rhythm, still not one he felt comfortable with— and she watched him intently, clearly curious what he was writing.

_You don’t have to answer, but is there a reason you don’t?_

Ronnie scanned over the words once, twice, possibly three times before starting to write back, and Liam immediately worried that he may have crossed a line. She didn’t tense, her expression remained relaxed, the fear in her eyes faded, and he almost laid his head on the table too, but her handing the notebook back stopped him from doing that. He watched as she laid her head back down, her eyes fluttering closed but snapping back open as if she wanted to see his expression, watch as he wrote.

_I know how to, and I’m capable of it, just never really have talked to anyone outside of my social worker. He doesn’t know why either._

His brows furrowed, much to his disapproval. He wanted to ask about the social worker, but what was there to ask about? It was pretty obvious. Scott had mentioned it before —back when they first met her— that she was a foster child, but Liam hadn’t thought much of it. What was there to think of? He knew nothing about the foster system or what her life was like, only that she hadn’t been in Beacon Hills for long and wasn’t from there. That had been something she “discussed” with Mason when he was trying to list places she needed to visit.

_Does that bother you?_

She raised a brow at his question, a look of shock crossing her features before melting back into the relaxed state. Was it that surprising for him to ask? He didn’t have much time to ponder or overthink anything when the notebook was placed back on his desk.

_Sometimes. It frustrates me more than anything. Kinda annoying not being able to talk to people you really want to talk to._

He snapped his attention back to her almost immediately after reading and rereading her words. There was no point in it, but he tilted his head, silently voicing his question the same way she always did whenever she was confused her intrigued. Her lip curled up, never taking the form of that tired smile, but the gesture remained there, her eyes brighter even with the exhaustion taking a toll on her body.

There was no way she didn’t know what his question was, but still, she gave him no answer, forcing him to write it down. He didn’t want to. It sounded stupid in his head, and when he wrote it down he cringed, turning the pencil over to erase it, but the book was pulled out from under him before he got the chance.

_Do you want to talk to me?_

She smiled. Not a tired one, not a ghost of one, an actual smile. It was brighter than the lights in the classroom, than the sun peering through the open blinds. Her eyes twinkled the way diamonds do, the grey no longer hovering over the green as a cloud but a stunning silver that complemented the emeralds, the two almost taking his breath away when she looked up at him. He would never admit that he imagined what her smile would be like, but finally seeing it, he wasn’t sure any of them ever came close.

Breathtaking didn’t even begin to describe what he felt looking at her, and as stupid and cringy as it sounded, he wasn’t sure he would ever take it back. Her smile brought warmth into him, calming the hint of anger that always boiled beneath his skin, and for the first time since being bitten, his wolf was nowhere to be seen. They were at peace, completely content just sitting there, lost in her eyes and smile.

All too soon had she turned away, her pale cheeks warming up, a light, almost unnoticeable tinge of pink reaching them as she wrote something down, her eyes avoiding his as she handed the notebook back. He took it, barely catching her chewing on her bottom lip, that same smile growing on her face, and any negative thoughts vanished before ever emerging.

 _Yes_.

That one word had him grinning, which seemed so stupid, but _man_ , he wasn’t sure he ever felt so giddy over one simple word. He glanced back up at her, her eyes already on him, and he almost forgot why he had brought her into the classroom. Her heartbeat was relatively normal —for her, at least— the fear had vanished from her eyes, and other than the circles under her eyes, she looked more herself. Even the colour in her face had returned, paired with a rosy tint on her cheeks that almost made him smile more.

They both flinched when the bell rang, signalling that all students needed to head to class. He should have handed her notebook back when she started to get up, but he had to know. One last question, an easy one to answer, so he scribbled it down and handed the book back, standing up and missing whatever reaction she would have.

_Are you okay?_

He expected a nod or something like that, but when she handed the notebook back he was surprised to see what she had written.

_No, but I am feeling better now._

It didn’t erase the concerns he had, not that her lying to him would have either, but seeing the second part of the sentence did relax him. He smiled up at her, not sure if he should write something back or just give her the notebook. Thankfully, she decided for him, stepping around the desk, closer to him than she had ever been, and took the book from his hands, brushing her cold fingers against his. She glanced down at the book, avoiding his eyes as she slid it back into the backpack, and when she finally looked back it must have dawned on her just how close they were.

She made no move to step back, but her eyes widened a fraction, not in fear but more surprise. He let himself get lost in her eyes, trying to memorize how bright they were before she dimmed them, and they were forced to reenter reality. The grey had already dulled, returning to that layer of smoke that hid the shine of the green, but he continued to take in how she was in that moment, just the two of them, pretending that maybe, just maybe, he had something to do with her calm state.

The rest of the morning went on, his mind still lost in that empty classroom, that bright smile continuing to resurface in his mind, and when lunch rolled around he completely forgot what Lydia had said to him that morning. He was lost in this other world, one that most teenagers spent their time in, the one that he used to —still— tease Mason for prancing around in there. It was a nice place that he would have gladly stayed in if it hadn’t been for a certain text from his alpha that reminded him his reality needed him there.

**> >> You got a minute? Stiles and I need to talk to you. **

_Fuck._ He sent a quick text to Mason, letting him know he wouldn’t be sitting with them at lunch today, and then asked Scott where they should meet. As expected, it was the locker room. He grabbed his things and headed that way, his thoughts popping his peaceful bubble as he ran through every possible problem they could be dealing with. None of them was close to what he was about to be hit with.

“Scott?” He called into the room, not liking just how quiet it was in there. Was he early? He took a step further in, looking around, holding back from calling out again. Could it be a trap? That wouldn’t be the first time, but no one ever texted him from Scott’s phone. Mason’s, yes, but not Scott’s.

“Liam,” Stiles called from the showers, his voice calming the beta’s growing nerves. “We’re in here.”

He stepped in, eyeing Stiles and Scott. They were okay, not tied or held at gunpoint, but they were antsy —Stiles even more than usual. “Is everything okay?”

“Okay,” Scott sighed and took a step forward, a pained look in his eyes. “We weren’t sure if we should tell you this, and if you want nothing to do with any of this afterwards, I’ll understand, but I think you deserve to know.”

“Deserve to know what?” Liam asked impatiently. “What’s going on, Scott?”

“It’s about Ronnie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings on specific chapters

One thing few people knew about Scott McCall was that he had never been a huge fan of the unknown. He knew it must sound stupid, that a great true alpha, one of the strongest werewolves out there, could be scared of a little mystery. It was true though. There was so much unknown in the world, even before the supernatural got involved, and once it did he was barely holding himself together most days. Even after dealing with berserkers, hunters, and a pack of alphas, Scott still hadn’t found a way to conquer the unsettling feeling he got from the unknown.

When he first got bit, that had been one of the hardest things to deal with. He didn’t know what to expect, not just about being a werewolf, but himself too. His emotions were out of control, memories were foggy, and once a month there was a possibility that he could hurt someone he loves, his best friend and mom the highest risks. It all quickly became too much, and he didn’t have time to bounce from one panic attack to another with a killer on the loose, so it all was bottled up, only to be released when they were in the clear.

The plan, when he first agreed to meet with Argent, was to clear up most of that pesky unknown. Since they first found the werewolf body, followed by a few more and leads that led nowhere, there was too much Scott didn’t know for him to be comfortable with. Protecting Beacon Hills had become his responsibility and the weight of that only made this much unknown crippling and he was seconds away from shattering. He should have known the meeting would be quite the opposite. Nothing in Beacon Hills was ever that simple, after all, but he had —foolishly— hoped.

He still hadn’t racked his brain around anything by the time Stiles was calling. The anxious energy travelled through the and Scott found himself fidgeting while listening to his best friend go over everything they just found out. Argent’s words were still bouncing around in his head, some of them matching with what Brett had told Stiles and Malia, and he wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted anything else cleared up. At that moment, the unknown didn’t sound that bad.

Once Stiles said her name Scott swore his heart stopped. He knew, had a terrible gut feeling that he had been desperately trying to ignore, but he couldn’t now. There was no point denying that what Argent said was, in fact, something they would need to be worried about. If whatever Brett said made Stiles come to the same conclusion as Scott, what else could he do to avoid it? The truth always had a habit of coming back to bite them in the ass, and whenever he ignored it in the past, it bit hard.

There wasn’t much else to say, but Stiles still promised that he and Malia would be over in ten minutes before he hung up, leaving Scott to think whether he should call Lydia. She answered by the third ring, listening quietly as he went over everything, even got off track and vented about it for a few seconds, and when she spoke he knew she wasn’t all too happy about any of this. None of them was, not even Malia. He brought up what Stiles suggested, and reluctantly, she agreed, hanging up after putting it in Scott’s head that his beta has a right to know.

She was right, Lydia was always right, and when Stiles and Malia agreed he knew it had to be done. Still, he held back. He suggested they talk to him about it when they know more, which Malia said was his way of avoiding it entirely —she wasn’t wrong— but he didn’t want to give Liam a bunch of maybes. It was all too much for them, and after their conversation on the lacrosse field, when Liam confided in him about his fears, how he felt about having an anchor, Scott couldn’t drop all this information on him, especially not when it was about his anchor.

Lydia called back within the hour, Deputy Parrish hopping on the phone to go over everything the two had managed to find on Ronda Denver. They confirmed what Scott already feared, and he knew there wasn’t any choice in this. He _had_ to tell Liam everything because there was too much at risk if he didn’t, and if his beta didn’t want to be involved then Scott would gladly keep him out of it until they absolutely need him.

Now that he stood in the locker room, the only room he and Stiles managed to find that was vacant —Mr Yukimura said he was holding a lunch tutoring session— everything he had planned out, what he would say and how he would respond to certain questions, even the tone he would use, it all flew out the window. The second Ronnie’s name passed his lips, Liam’s body tensed. His breath got stuck in his throat, his heart skipped a beat, and Scott couldn’t do it. He watched as the fear washed away all colour from his beta’s face, and he couldn’t find it in him to do it.

He tried to take a deep breath, anything to calm his nerves before they became known to his beta and caused more panic than necessary. “Liam,” —Scott’s cleared his throat before his voice could give away his own anxiety— “before you start to overthink everything, just know that we are only telling you this out of precaution. Nothing is definite, just a slight possibility. We aren’t sure of any of this.”

“Yeah, and he means _any_.” Stiles said, still rocking on the balls of his feet. “Like, none at all. The foundation is built on a bunch of maybes, but they’re _really_ strong maybes that could lean towards definite if the cards are played right—”

“Stiles—”

“Shutting up.”

“Thank you.” Scott took a step forward, putting himself between Liam and Stiles, ready to stop his beta from doing anything that could hurt someone, or himself. “Liam, do you remember when I told you I was going to meet with Argent? That he knew something about these new hunters in town that could help us find them and stop them before they hurt anyone else?” Liam nodded. “He knew a _lot_ about these hunters, including how they recruit new ones.”

“Brett,” Stiles glanced at Scott as if asking for permission to continue, which Scott granted by stepping to the side, letting Liam see his best friend but remaining close enough to get between them if he had to. “Brett said these hunters have been around for centuries, that they were founded by these siblings —a brother and a sister— who lost their parents to werewolves.”

“They were orphans.” Scott added. “These hunters, they were created out of revenge that quickly morphed into bloodlust and has stayed that way since.” He tried to sound calm, his senses locked in on the emotions Liam was feeling, but nothing had clicked yet. His eyes remained focused on Scott, silently asking what any of this had to do with Ronnie, that hint of fear still evident in his eyes. “Only, nowadays, there aren’t many kids who have lost families to werewolves, or at least not many that are aware of it.

“And because of that, there aren’t many who have that need for revenge, or who are desperate to see blood spilt.” Stiles said.

“It makes their job harder.” Scott continued. “They can’t recruit people with a lust for revenge if there isn’t anyone with it, so they found an alternative.”

“How much do you know about the foster system?” Stiles asked, his words directed toward Liam who merely shrugged. The gears in his head created steam as he tried to understand, as he tried to tie this into Ronnie somehow. Scott wasn’t sure if he were glad he couldn’t or if it made him feel worse. “Well, most kids who are still in there once they reach high school, sometimes even before that, they become angry, possibly violent. Everything they do is out of spite, to the system, to happy families, to strangers they pass on the street.”

“Some think spite is awfully close to vengeful.” Scott thought over his next words carefully, but no matter how he could word it there was only one reaction they would get. He stepped closer to Stiles, careful not to make it obvious. “Argent said they have a specific type they look for. These hunters, they look for teenagers with a violent past, with issues —anger, depression, _fear_ — and they use it to direct their aggression, their anger, _fear_ , at the supernatural. At werewolves.” He readied himself for anything. “So, I asked Lydia to look into Ronnie’s records—”

“You did what?” Liam hissed, a strong stench of anger wafting from him. He acted quickly, and even with Scott being aware, the harsh shove caught him off-guard. “You had no right to do that!”

Scott didn’t fight back, just raised his hands as if to surrender, pretending not to notice the way his beta’s eyes flickered between blue and amber, neither one able to claim dominance over the other. He would need to have a talk with Liam eventually about fighting his wolf, but for now, he focused on the current issue, putting that one at the top of his list to deal with next. “You’re right.” He said calmly. “You’re right, what I did was wrong, and I shouldn’t have asked Lydia to do that.”

The anger in the room dissolved, not by much but enough that Scott felt comfortable keeping his best friend in the room, not that Stiles would willingly leave if he were told to. He waited till he knew Liam was in control, that his wolf wasn’t fighting to break out of whatever cage he was stashed into, and when his eyes remained blue Scott continued. “Everything we know about Ronnie is the same. She’s scared of her own shadow, she doesn’t talk to anyone outside of her social worker, and the longest she typically stays at homes is one month. Next to another family, this is the longest she has stayed at a place.”

“Why does that have to mean anything?” Liam asked, his voice wavering from angry to scared.

“It doesn’t.” Scott said. “For all we know, Ronnie’s finally found a family who wants her, and if that’s the case then great. Like we said, we don’t know anything for sure. Even if Ronnie is somehow involved with these hunters, that doesn’t mean she’ll agree to help them. There is just a slight possibility that she’ll be recruited, and that’s why I’m telling you this.”

Liam shook his head, his eyes trailing down to the tile. “Recruited?”

“I know this is a lot to take in.” Scott tested taking a step closer, not enough to draw the attention of Liam, but if he were allied with his wolf they would have noticed instantly. “We aren’t going to do anything to Ronnie, you know that right?” There was no response. “All we know is there is a chance she could get involved, that doesn’t mean she will willingly go along with anything they want.”

“She’s not a bad kid.” Stiles admitted, not even shamefully. It was no secret to the pack that he had a special soft spot for her, though most of them did. “Even when Lydia managed to find her records, there wasn’t much on it that we should worry about. Not even the bad was _that_ bad when you thought about it.”

All they got was a tired nod. Scott frowned, his heart breaking for his beta. He recognized the new scent in the air, his nose scrunching up at the potent, bitter stench that was fear. Without thinking, Scott closed the remaining space between himself and his beta. He cupped Liam’s neck, forcing him to look up, and as reassuring as he could be, Scott whispered, “She isn’t going to end up like Hayden, and I may not know what exactly happened with your dad, but I know she isn’t him either.”

Tears started to well up in Liam’s eyes. “Ronnie’s a good kid, and in her own way, she cares about you. Maybe she doesn’t show it like us, but I know she does. I don’t want you thinking differently about her because of a maybe.”

Liam nodded, blinking away his tears and swallowing back the lump in his throat. His voice cracked as he whispered out, “Do you?”

“No,” Scott said easily, and it was true. Not a single opinion he had towards Ronnie had been changed, nor would it even after everything they learned. She was still the same, scared girl he saw in the principal office, and he knew she always would be. He had no doubt that she would grow, that there was a fierce woman inside of there, muffled by all that fear, but no matter what he would always remember her in that office, eyes wide with fear. That wasn’t about to change because he learned she had a rocky past.

“I’m not telling you this so you’ll stop hanging out with her.” Scott said. “I just want you to be aware because _if_ —and that’s a big _if_ — anything happens, I need to know that you will be okay. That _both of you_ will be safe.” Liam nodded. “I promise I will do everything I can to keep her away from all of this. We just need to be cautious in case something happens.”

“ _If_ things go south.” Liam muttered shakily. “What if she’s already working with them.”

He knew that question was inevitable, that he would have to ask himself that sooner than later but hearing it from his beta hit harder than he thought it would. Yet, much to his own surprise, the answer came easily, without even a second thought. “Then we’ll do everything we can to make her see that we aren’t the enemy.” Liam released a breath, body relaxing as he leaned against the shower wall. “She may not be apart of this pack, but she _is_ our friend. I won’t give up on her. Will you?”

* * *

Ronnie had never been the type of girl to spend hours fussing over how she looked or what she was wearing. If anything, she preferred _not_ to look at her reflection, or specifically, the shell of a girl staring back at her. She knew she wasn’t beautiful, had been told it countless times, and no amount of make-up or fancy clothes was going to change that, she had come to terms with that. That didn’t mean that she hadn’t grown accustomed to foster mothers doing her hair or make-up, nor did it mean she enjoyed it.

She got out of school with somewhat of a smile, walking out to the parking lot with Mason and Corey, politely declining their daily offer to give her a ride. Her fears were more manageable than they had been that morning —something she still hadn’t wrapped her head around— exhaustion still the same since she refused to let her guard down long enough to rest her eyes.

It had been tempting when it was just her and Liam in a room together. There had always been something about him that made her feel… safe? Comfortable? Whatever it was, it scared her, but not in a way she was familiar with. The fears never hit her until he was gone, until she was left with her thoughts as she remembered how it felt to be near him. She could still feel his warm skin against hers when she had noticed him so tense almost one week ago. It didn’t make her skin crawl, but her heart raced in a way she didn’t mind. A pleasant one.

Liam hadn’t made an appearance since that morning and she tried not to be disappointed when he wasn’t there during lunch. She must have failed since Mason tried to assure her that he was fine, saying something about having to meet with Scott. The others caught in rather quickly, and eventually, Malia was dragging her away from the bench to help her find a book in the library. Ronnie didn’t mind the distraction, was actually grateful for it, so she walked with Malia, listening as she ranted about how stupid math is.

He wasn’t there after school either. Mason hadn’t even bothered waiting for him which only told her he hadn’t been planning on joining them. Something about it had her chest tightening, the feeling a prime example of why she tried to avoid connections. They only ever hurt her, but she had to go and get attached.

 _Did I do something wrong?_ She had wondered since lunch. _Was this morning too much? Has he finally realized I’m too broken? That there’s no fixing me? Will they all start giving up on me now?_ Could she blame them? _Maybe it's for the best. I can’t let them down if they give up now. If they leave before they get attached then I can’t hurt them._ Her head throbbed within the hour, and a migraine was in her future, sooner than she wanted.

When she was pulled into the silver Tesla and driven to the closest mall she —for once— didn’t complain. Yes, her fears resurfaced with a nauseating force the second she came face to face with Mrs Márquez, but she would take the fear over pain any day. It would keep her from overthinking everything, instead, forcing her to be on edge, flinching back at the slightest twitch as if she expected the woman driving to turn into a monster.

That was just the thing, though, wasn’t it? Had Ronnie not heard Mrs Márquez talking about monsters? Ronnie wasn’t an idiot, she had read a few fantasies stories, had stumbled across the world most called supernatural. She knew the terms alpha, beta, and pack. Mainly knew them for what they were initially used for. Wolves had always been a fascination of hers, but one thing she —surprisingly— never got interested in was werewolves. Could that have actually been what the conversation was about, about teens at the high school with abilities no human should possess?

 _No,_ Ronnie shook her head. _That’s not possible._

They spent over two hours walking around the mall, going from one store to another, none of them good enough for Mrs Márquez’s standards. Everything was far too nice for Ronnie’s taste, but she tried on what she was given and pretended not to be terrified of her foster mother. She didn’t pay much attention to what was said, too busy watching what moves were made, but she had caught a muttered, “this will do” as Mrs Márquez tossed the items in the cart, repeating it as she paid for them with a scowl before moving on to the next store where she searched their items with a judgmental frown.

She tried not to flinch every time Mrs Márquez brushed against her or the touches that were surely meant to seem as gentle as a mother’s but were received as threats. It became nearly impossible once they returned to the house where Mrs Márquez insisted on doing Ronnie’s hair and make-up, going on about some party they expected her to be at. There was no way to politely decline, nor was she given much room to do so, and she had no doubt that night would end up an utter disaster.

Her outfit was far too nice, the dress a shade of bronze that faded to a stunning golden tone at the skirt. She was grateful it wasn’t the kind of dress that she would be tripping over all night long, it only barely passing her knees, and she could breathe fairly easily, considering the situation. The skirt flowed nicely, and when she was told to do a spin the colours flickered between the bronze and gold, the sight mesmerizing.

“It brings out your beautiful eyes.” Mrs Márquez had said before handing her the shoes, the gold glitter heels quickly becoming Ronnie’s least favourite part of the outfit.

Walking down the stairs proved to be life-threatening, but Ronnie managed without getting herself —or anyone else— killed. She kept her breathing even, taking shallow breaths that hid the fear that seeped out between each breath. Everyone was kind, greeting her without pointing out just how out of place she was, and Ronnie fell into a routine, only tempted to take a glass of wine twice.

It wasn’t until the toast that she felt it. She ignored it at first, rolling her shoulders as if that would calm whatever had made the hairs on the back of her neck rise, but nothing she did made it leave her alone. Mr Márquez had just raised his glass, announcing the toast when she finally caved. There was nothing there that gave her a reason to be even more on edge than normal, but that feeling didn’t relax and it kept her from focusing on what Mr Márquez had to say.

“This night is especially special,” His words pulled her back in, watching the exchange between her foster parents, the feeling only worsening, and no number of deep breaths was calming it. She almost went to go find a glass of wine. “Because not only are we joined by our lovely foster daughter, Ronda,” All eyes snapped to her, a few people raising a glass in her direction, others whispering amongst themselves as if she were a horse up for auction. “But we have been blessed with the presence of our first foster son, Ricardo.”

The man appeared from the shadows, his eyes dark sounding every alarm in Ronnie’s head. She forgot how to breathe, that unsettling feeling fading away, replaced by a full-wave of panic that knocked the air out of her lungs. He looked just as she imaged he would, dark and mysterious, but not in the pleasant way most women would dream of a man being. His dark hair and dark eyes made her skin crawl, her mind scream, and when his eyes met hers she wanted to disappear, anywhere where he couldn’t see her.

His lips curled up in a fiendish smirk as if he knew exactly what he was doing to her as if he knew he terrified her and he liked it. He thrived off it, and when he spoke she could see it all clearly; the exchange between him and Mrs Márquez. They were talking about killing someone, and as she looked at his golden suit, noticed how the blazer too had a bronze to gold ombre effect, that they were matching, she felt the damp, sticky feeling of blood on her skin, could see it staining his suit.

She wanted to scream, to get as far away from him as possible, but her throat closed up and her feet glued to the ground. There was no getting away, and a sick feeling told her that was for the best. _Ricardo likes the chase_ , the voice sang, and she almost threw up at the thought. An image of a boy —one she had seen at the high school a few times— trying to get away from that man, but Ricardo simply laughed. She hated his laugh, barely registering that it wasn’t just in her head. He was laughing in real life too, the sound echoing in her head as the image of the boy turned red.

Only a gasp passed through her lips, one that made no sound nor released much breath. She needed to get out of that room, but before she could work up the strength to move, Ricardo was in front of her, not just in her mind but actually there. Her knees threatened to give up on her, any hint of exhaustion keeping her down now gone as a wave of adrenaline rushed through her. Everything in her body screamed danger, yet she did nothing when he put his hand on her shoulder.

“Pleasure to finally meet you, lil’ sis.” He said, his smile no better than his smirk. She tried not to back away, pretend that he didn’t terrify her more than any abusive family she had ever endured, but as he leaned in she couldn’t help but try to lean back. His hand came up to her hair, cupping the back of her head and forcing her to hold still as he bent near her ear, his breath hot against her skin, and she wanted nothing more than to tear away from him, but his fingers threaded into her hair, stopping her from going anywhere. She almost whimpered. “I think we’re gonna get along just great, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language, minor self-deprecating thoughts, minor self-hate


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings on specific chapters.

Liam used to love school. When he was younger it had been one of the few places where he felt remotely close to normal. It wasn't too out of the ordinary for a kid to kick or scream when they didn't get their way, nor when they broke their toys or flipped the desk. All kids threw temper tantrums. They were _meant_ to do those things; it was perfectly normal. Hell, it was expected of kids to act like little shits incapable of explaining how they feel with anything other than actions.

At school, no one chastised him for any of that because, as far as they were aware, he was acting like any other kid. As a kid, there was nothing wrong with him. There was nothing wrong until middle school when teachers started expecting more. When immature behaviours were frowned upon, meant to be left behind in elementary. He couldn't blend in anymore, couldn't blame his actions on his incapability to express anything through words. In middle school, no one snapped their pencil when taking a test, no one screamed at their teachers when told they're failing the class.

No one beats a kid until he couldn't breathe all because of a remark about an absent father.

Everyone tried to warn him. For years, he would hear how it wasn't going to get easier, that his IED would only become harder to deal with, become stronger the older he got. His mom, his therapist, his stepdad, even his best friend, they all tried to warn him. He thought he had listened, and maybe he did. Maybe what he never realized wasn't how _he_ would deal with his IED, but how _others_ would look at him for it.

It started with little things, the kind he wouldn't have noticed so easily. Everyone looked at him differently after an episode, some kept their distance, and whispers were shared whenever he walked by. He could handle that, had dealt with it his entire life. Then the whispers turned into snickers as if he had a "kick me" sign pinned to his back. Those who kept their distance seemed to forget what it was they feared, acting all buddy-buddy with him. The fearful looks were bright with amusement.

Even then it wasn't until the teasing started that he realized he was the punchline of a running joke only he was unaware of. Everyone jumped in, poking fun at the boy who couldn't handle a pat on the back let alone a little fun.

Their fear never went away, not fully at least. The jokes stopped being funny the moment they found themselves on the opposite side of his episodes, the side that always ends up bloody with a broken bone or two. Then it would repeat. Students would go back to flinching whenever he walked past, whispering to each other with fearful looks. Even teachers found it necessary to isolate him from others, setting him up on a special little island "just in case".

Any friends he managed to make ran the second his anger happened to be directed toward them, counsellors were called whenever he so much as sighed in a way no one recognized, and lunchtime was spent at a table designated for the troubled kids. School changed quickly for him, from something he looked forward to, to a prison he dreaded waking up for.

The world was scared of him, always waiting for the next bomb to go off, and there wasn't a damn thing he could ever do to change that. He was a monster long before Scott bit him, and his wolf only brought out the worst parts. It added gasoline to the always burning rage inside him, lit the match on the nuclear bomb set to go off at the slightest hint of a trigger, seconds away from taking out everything within a hundred-mile radius.

Nothing got easier in high school, nor was he stupid enough to believe it could. He wanted it to, yes, wished that he could have _one_ relatively normal year. That simply wasn't how it could ever work for him. Not even one month into the school year was he getting kicked out. One week into the new one, he found himself dangling off the roof of the hospital, bit by a werewolf —a legendary true alpha nonetheless— and thrown into a battle his IED only made worse.

Two days after the whole ordeal with the berserkers, his girlfriend was leaving Beacon Hills.

Liam wasn't an idiot, not _entirely_ one, at least. He spoke with Stiles enough to understand how the rules worked; three was a pattern. There would be no getting easier, certainly not for him, and nor would there ever be. Things were only bound to get worse from here.

Maybe that was just an excuse. Something he told himself when everything started to brighten up, to keep him from getting hurt when the light was snuffed out. That —if not forever, as long as he lived in Beacon Hills— there was no better, no easier. He will always find himself in the middle of some battlefield, fighting against people he thought were his friends, and faced with having to pick between giving in to his wolf instincts, protecting his pack like the "good little beta" he was supposed to be, or acting on his selfish needs, sitting it out and focusing lacrosse.

An easy decision. At least, it should be. There shouldn't be even a _moment_ of hesitation. He would pick his pack, fight beside them just like he knows they will always fight beside him, and the mere thought that he would ever think otherwise had a sick feeling sitting heavily in his gut.

Lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, he felt that pit in his stomach the longer his mind wandered. There had been no sleep that night, or the one before. He could hardly remember the last time he slept through the night, where his thoughts were quiet long enough for an hour of rest. The bile rose in his throat because, not even for the first time, he wasn't sure if he _wanted_ to fight with his pack. Not on this battlefield. Not if Ronnie would be standing on the opposite side.

He knew it was morning before his alarm went off, had practically watched the sunrise through his closed curtains. The ear-piercing ring never registering —not fully— the thoughts bouncing around in his head far too loud for anything else to be heard. His movements appeared robotic as he silenced the alarm and swung his legs over the bed, his body running on muscle memory, his mind far too distracted to think of much else as he stepped over to the mirror tucked in the corner of his room.

The face staring back at him was a pitiful one; dark circles becoming clearer, colour fading from his cheeks. Even his eyes, which his mom praised for being so bright and emotional, were dull, almost lifeless. He felt nauseous looking at it, forcing himself to tear his eyes as he pulled off his sleep clothes. Despite his exhaustion screaming to leave it be, he slipped into jeans and his grey pullover, changing to something more acceptable by society.

His fingers twisted the drawstring of his hoodie, wrapping the thin rope around his finger tight enough to cut off blood circulation before unwinding it, dropping his hands as he did. It was a habit he adopted during one of the aftermaths of an episode, when all feeling in his body faded away, the guilt and shame too much for his heart to handle. When his body would shut down for days at a time, weeks even, and the strings cutting off circulation was the only thing he could feel. The only thing reminding him he wasn't a monster. That he was human.

If his mom or stepdad were to walk in, even Scott or Mason, they would all think he had an episode. That he was slowly coming out of the numbing stage he would fall into when it all became overwhelmingly too much. He wondered —twisting and unravelling the rope absently as he stared off blankly— if they would react that way; careful where they stepped in case the slightest movement was enough to set him off, cautious like all the kids and teachers at school will be.

"Liam," His mom's voice travelled through the door, the same time it did every day. She knocked gently a few times; a rather off-beat sound compared to the musical knocks his stepdad orchestrated. He sat on the edge of his bed, back facing the door as it swung open, eyes unfocused as he tried to quiet his mind enough to put on an act. "Pumpkin, you up?"

She didn't say anything, nor did she have to. Her silence told him she knew something was off, that she was analyzing the state he was in before deciding how to proceed. He closed his eyes, tried to focus his breathing, repeat the mantra meant to help him remain in control, but nothing was working. His mind was bouncing too quickly from one thing to the next like a tennis ball, and the force of the rackets made his stomach churn with guilt and shame.

It was all a bit too similar to when he would come out of an episode. When he would realize what he had done, the people he had hurt or disappointed, when his eyes could see more than red, could see the fearful looks in everyone's eyes. He never could think clearly afterwards, his mind screaming at him with disgust. The bile never made its way to his throat before he was shutting down, not even when he was little and would stay "awake" for a few more hours.

The bed dipped behind him, the warm of his mom's hand resting on his shoulder. He knew she was testing the waters, checking to see where he was, if he was even conscious enough to register her there. She squeezed it, ran it down his back and rubbed, a soothing motion that had his shoulders relaxing.

"Sweetheart," She tried again, cautious this time but still just as motherly as always. He wasn't sure what it was about his mom's voice that had a sob clawing at his throat. Perhaps it was the comfort, the illusion of safety that he wouldn't be judged if he were to completely fall apart. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Want to? More than anything, but he couldn't. There was no way he could explain the thousands of thoughts ricocheting in his head without telling her everything. Without revealing to her that, not only was your son _born_ a monster but had truly become one. He couldn't deal with the look of fear or disgust that would undoubtedly fill her loving eyes. The way it would be directed at him, caused by _him_ , by what he was and who he is. She wouldn't need to pretend to love him anymore because no one would be expected to love a monster. Not even a mother.

He wanted to shake his head, but his body gave in to the comfort she provided, leaning against her as his body gave up. His shoulders shook as he tried to hold in the sob and she hardly hesitated to wrap her arms around him, pulling him closer to her till he could hide his face in her robe.

Three is a pattern. That was what Stiles always said, what the board in his room proved countless times. The first had been his father, a man that was meant to love unconditionally, who saw through the sweet little boy facade Liam must have put on so well. Second was Garret, a friend from middle school who had brought Liam and Mason together, someone who knew what Liam was and what he would become if he weren't put down. The third, that was Hayden, his girlfriend who claimed to love him and promised to stay by his side even after she learned of what he was.

Everyone saw who he was eventually, his true colours always revealed to be stained with blood, the word "monster" bouncing off the walls growing louder each time. He was foolish if he ever believed someone could be different. Foolish if he thought, even for a second, that someone would stay, would see that maybe he wasn't a monster. It almost made him laugh, only the noise that tore through him was nothing humorous.

His mom's embrace tightened as the single broken cry turned into a sob, followed by another, and another. He started hiccupping, unable to breathe as he crumbled, incapable of pretending that he was okay —that he would be okay, eventually— any longer. There wasn't a point in pretending, there was no "happily ever after" in Beacon Hills. Werewolves were never the hero of any story, displayed as the beast that deserved to be put down.

Only an idiot could ever believe his story would wind up any different than the tales you hear about werewolves. His story hardly began the way a hero's story would. There was no heroic battle, no saving a damsel, just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He would never fit in a heroic story anyways. No hero dealt with anger issues, no hero wasn't loved and adored by all who met them, no hero couldn't look himself in the eye without feeling nauseous.

He could never be a hero because _never_ would the hero think twice before joining the battle to protect the ones he loves. Heroes aren't selfish, aren't angry, aren't violent. Liam didn't have a single trait of a hero, and if he were in some comic book fairytale, Scott would be the hero. He would be the stray kid taken in because the hero pitied him, trained to fight for what was right, only to betray the hero, to break that bond where the hero will have no choice but to realize he put his trust in a monster.

"Do you want me to let school know you won't be there today?"

Liam wanted to say yes. More than anything he wanted to stay right there, safe in the comfort of his mom's loving embrace, but that would be selfish. His pack needed him, Scott needed him, even if he said otherwise, even if he told Liam this wasn't a battle he had to fight. Only a monster would be that selfish, and while he knew what he was, he refused to hurt everyone he cared about because of it.

Or maybe, maybe it was just another selfish act. Maybe he didn't want their blood on his weak, cowardice hands. Maybe he was only going to fight because he knew if he didn't and anything happened to the pack, it would be on his hands, stained forever. The pack would look at him differently, _Scott_ would look at him differently, and the thought alone had Liam hunched over, seconds away from rushing into the bathroom.

It was weak. Weak and impossible to believe, but he managed to shake his head. He managed to swallow back the bile and the lump in his throat, managed to push away the selfish thoughts and say no, even if it was a pathetic way. Even if his lack of words had his mom worried more, teetering between being a mother and telling him to stay in bed, or letting her bird fly the nest with a broken wing.

"Are you sure?" She was giving him a cop-out. A chance to hide in the bunker while the war rages on. "I'm sure the restaurant will survive one day without me. When was the last time just you and I hung out anyways?" He felt so pathetic, still curled up in his mom's lap, crying like he was in kindergarten again, tempted by the idea of a movie date. "Scott would understand if you missed practice."

Scott would, he did not doubt that. He also knew Scott would be worried sick if Liam were to send him a quick, vague text saying he would be taking the day off. His alpha would be pacing the floor, unable to focus on any of his classes, too busy checking his phone every five seconds just in case something happened, consumed by all the what-ifs that Liam knew plagued his mind. There was enough on Scott's plate without Liam unnecessarily adding to it.

He shook his head again, surer with his answer this time. Liam couldn't take the day off, not with merciless hunters threatening his pack. Not when his alpha needed him the most, even if he claimed they would be okay if he wished to tap out. There was no time to be selfish, not with so many lives at stake.

"I'm okay." He barely managed to croak out, furiously wiping away his tears. She watched him diligently, unsure whether she should speak the words clearly on the tip of her tongue. "Really, mom," —he said before she could have the chance— "I'm okay. I just had a rough night, that's all." And it wasn't a lie, not entirely one at least. She knew Liam has had nightmares in the past, ones that left him too shaken to leave his room let alone speak. It was easier for her to believe that was all it was.

"Your nightmares are back?" He nodded. There would be no further questions asked, she knows he doesn't like talking about what haunts him during the night, and if he was able to say much of anything than the firm grip of fear was loosened. She sighed, her brown eyes filled to the brim with worry, and he almost took everything back, told her he wanted to stay home. "And you're sure you're okay to go to school?" He felt guilty as he nodded. "Alright, but I want you to text Scott, see if he can pick you up on his way to school. I don't want you taking the bus."

Liam nodded. He had already planned on asking if his alpha would be available to give him a ride. The bus was the last place he wanted to be at —especially knowing that Ronnie wouldn't be on it, busy with her self-defence class that morning— and there wasn't much room for a conversation on the back of a motorcycle, unlike with Mason. His best friend would see right through his little white lie and insist they talk about it, something that Liam wasn't sure he was ready for.

"I promise I'll text you throughout the day." He pressed a kiss to his mom's forehead, smiling as best as he can to wash away the last the worry in her eyes. It didn't do much, but she returned his smile with her dimpled grin. "Go get ready for work, mom. I'm okay."

She eyed him one last time, glaring at his hoodie as if it had once kicked her puppy, and with a sigh, her eyes met his. "Text Scott." There was no room for argument, nor was he brave enough to, and she climbed off his bed, leaving him with a kiss on the cheek, ruffling his hair as if he were still five years old. "Love you."

"Love you too." He called, tensing the moment the door clicked shut, but he didn't give his thoughts enough time to wreak havoc.

Scott answered on the second ring, surprisingly quickly considering he rarely had his phone on him so early in the morning. He was grabbing his keys before the question was even in the air, telling his mom he was heading out, picking up Liam first before even telling the beta. They hung up shortly after, Scott promising to be there in five, and Liam agreeing to meet him out front since they were already late enough, skipping out on breakfast in fear of upsetting his stomach further.

When Scott's motorcycle turned the corner there were no greetings passed between the werewolves. Liam took a deep breath just as his alpha was grabbing the helmet for him to wear, and he stared down at it as he blurted out, with zero confidence, "I want to help."

He looked up, scared of what he would see in his alpha's eyes, only to see a look of surprise and worry. "Help with what?"

"With the 'rogue hunters' or whatever Stiles is calling them now." Scott raised a brow making Liam huff. "I know you said I don't have to, but I want to."

There was hesitance in the way Scott took a breath, and Liam was almost positive there would be an argument in their future as the alpha shook his head. "Liam," He sighed, biting his lip and Liam almost stopped him from going on, from trying to change his mind, but Scott just looked up at him with something close to pity. "I want to make one thing clear." Liam nodded. " _If_ Ronnie is involved, and Lydia is trying to figure out whether or not she is, we are going to do everything we can to help her. That doesn't mean any of us expect you to go through that with us—"

"I want to help, Scott." He felt stupid, the way he seemed to be begging, but maybe that feeling in his stomach would fade. Maybe he'd be able to look himself in the eyes and not see a cold man staring back at him. "Please, just tell me how I can help."

"Okay." Scott sighed, holding out the helmet again. "Get on."

* * *

Lydia wasn't sure how long she had been staring at the computer screen for, only that her head started to bob, too heavy to hold up much longer, and her vision blurred as she fought to keep her eyes open. The burning, bright light emitting from the screen wasn't helping much, nor the temptation to check the time tucked away at the corner. She fought her urges, aware that once her eyes closed she wouldn't be able to get them to open again and knowing the time would only make her exhaustion real.

When she had agreed to look into a few things she was positive Scott wasn't asking for her to stay up all night, eyes glued to a computer screen until she found the answers they needed. He hardly expected them to find anything, even with the files Argent had managed to get ahold of for them. They were all desperate for something, _anything_ at this point, and Lydia was possibly the worst of all of them, so when he brought it up she hardly hesitated to jump onto the task, disregarding any schoolwork due the next day.

She tried to focus all her draining energy on scouring the internet, oblivious to the rising sun, so consumed in her task that she hardly noticed the movement in the apartment. Her thoughts were rattling in her head, and while her premonitions had been fairly quiet the past week she remained on edge. If what Brett said was true —which Scott and Argent were fairly certain it was— then Lydia knew it was only a matter of time before she saw _something_ , and the possibilities of what she might see, of the unknown it could be, it all terrified her.

Their pack wasn't the only thing on the line anymore, not that it ever seemed to be in this town, but a sick feeling told her this wasn't just about them. If these hunters are just as cruel as believed to be, dozens of innocent lives could be at risk, all for one goal in mind: cleansing the world of supernatural beings.

"Did you get _any_ sleep?"

Parrish's voice startled her, drawing her attention away from her thoughts, her fears, and the computer where all her attention _should_ have been focused on, her tired eyes flickering up to stare at his back. His hair was damp, deputy uniform already on as he made a pot of coffee that she found herself looking at longingly. She tried not to think about how out of it she must have been if she hadn't realized it was morning, or that he was awake and getting a shower.

Her drifting attention snapped back to her search and she found herself letting out a frustrated sigh, giving in to the overwhelming —and rather sudden— need to vent. "Argent said this was a file of all known hunters, at least the ones who remain active in the 'community'." She glanced up long enough to see if he were paying attention, satisfied to see his eyes were now watching her curiously as he leaned against the counter. "I managed to narrow it down to just people who were orphaned growing up, then listened to what Argent said.

"He thinks whoever these hunters are, that they'll all have something in common; some kind of dark past or tragedy they could all relate to. Maybe they'd even be working together or met sometime while in the system." She pecked at the keyboard to open up her notes and glared at just how little there was. "Do you know how many I've found that fit something _relatively close_ to the criteria?"

An amused smirk tugged at his lips just as he turned to pour the coffee. "I'm guessing either none or too many."

"None!" She threw her hands in the air, seconds away from slamming the lid of the laptop shut but stopping herself just as Parrish took a seat across from her, two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands. He offered her one, the cute little Christmas elves not going unnoticed as she snatched it away, taking a large sip, ignoring the searing pain that travelled down her throat. "I started trying to see where they are today, or at least where they were last seen." She continued. "Those who aren't completely off the radar aren't anywhere close to Beacon Hills."

"I feel like the responsible thing to do right now is call Stiles and have him drag you home and force you to get _some_ sleep." Parrish took a sip of his coffee, unphased by both the heat of the drink and the glower she sent him. "You're lucky I don't have to go to work for another hour and sitting at a desk all day is far more boring than being responsible." He set the mug down and gestured toward the laptop. "What about the other things Argent said to look for? Did you try any of those on the hunters _with_ parents?"

"If I did that we would have a _long_ list of suspects, Argent included." She huffed. "I _did_ manage to find a few hunters working together. Couples, mainly, but none of their pasts is exactly dark by many standards. Their parents didn't die some brutal death, they were adopted fairly early on in their life. I mean, other than killing werewolves, they seem normal. Happy even."

Parrish nodded; brows furrowed in thought. "Maybe it isn't something that happened to their parents, or not being adopted." His words were quiet, almost as if they were more of a spoken thought. She perked up, gesturing eagerly for him to elaborate, her exhaustion slipping to the back of her mind at the possibility of even the slightest breakthrough. "How much can you find about experiences while they're _in_ the system?"

She frowned. "Not much, actually." She swallowed hard, reaching for the coffee to get rid of the growing lump in her throat. "Other than what is documented about their behaviours, you can't really find anything else without _them_ revealing it." Her thoughts returned to the horror stories she had spent an hour reading, ones from people with friends in the system, others sharing their personal experiences. It wasn't intentional, how every story she rid the John or Jane Doe's face was replaced with a kind brunette with fearful green eyes.

"Oh my god," Lydia leaned back in the chair, eyes widening. "I'm such an idiot?"

"What is it?"

"The best clue we have is literally right under our noses and none of us have even thought to use it yet!" She pulled out her phone, skimming through her contacts for Stiles, texting him with lightening quick fingers. "Brett said these hunters are in town, that they've settled somewhere nearby, right?" Parrish nodded, watching her as if he would be able to hear her thoughts if he leaned close enough. "And _if_ they were going to 'recruit' Ronnie for anything, odds are they've already reached out to her. So, either she's leaving with them, or sees them often, right?"

He leaned back in his chair with a huff. "You think whoever these hunters are, _if_ they've started recruiting your friend, then technically you have the answer right in front out of?" She nodded enthusiastically. "So, if you figure out who Ronnie is staying with, or who she's close to, and they happen to be on that list, you basically have your answer."

Lydia took a large gulp of her coffee, the caffeine slowly starting to kick in, or it was the possibility of having an answer to at least one of the many questions; is Ronnie involved? "How rude is it to ask a foster kid who their foster family is?" She blurted out, hovering her finger over the send button. "Is it intrusive? Would she be weirded out by it?"

"I don't know your friend the way you do," —Parrish said to which Lydia frowned at— "and something tells me you really don't either."

It wasn't that Ronnie was secretive, or that any of the pack hadn't tried to get to know her more, but she wasn't open about her life either. Scott and Corey were the only ones who had an idea of what she had been through, the former because of the bit he had overheard in the principal office on her first day, the latter thanks to their shared class during either the mornings or evenings. Lydia leaned further into her seat, her eyes fluttering closed. "You've never seen the look in her eyes, Parrish."

She looked back at him, aware that there were pointless tears in her eyes. "When we first met her, _everything_ scared her. And she started to get better, at least we all thought she was. Now... now it's like day one all over again. I just... when I was reading those stories about kids in the system, about how they're treated..." She shuttered. "Who knows what Ronnie has been through, or what she could still be going through. I'm just, I'm worried about her. We all are. And now Liam found out about her being his anchor, and she might be working with hunters, and I just..."

"Lydia," Parrish took her hands in his, squeezing them gently. "I can't say I understand what's going on in your head right now, especially with everything that is going on, and I know better than to try and convince you guys that you can't save everyone..." She sensed the "but" before he said it, even if he tried to avoid it. "Help her." He said, and the way he said it made it seem so simple.

"I don't just mean with all of this supernatural shit." He continued. "If there is anything I've learned from you guys, it's that you are so much more than what you are. You don't need to be a werewolf, or a kitsune, or a banshee to help her. Maybe there is more going on than anyone could know, and if there is that's a completely different story, but until you know what goes on in her world, just be her friend. Don't think about what she might be apart of, or what she might have been through. Treat her like she's just another kid because I doubt she knows what that's like."

Her eyes flickered back to her phone, eyeing the text that she quickly erased. It didn't take long at all for her to find the group chat, the names of everyone in the pack bring a fond smile to her face.

**< <<Do any of you know who Ronnie's foster parents are?**

Corey texted back first.

**> >>She's never said. Liam might know.**

Liam's response wasn't too long after.

**> >>I don't know who they are, but I know where they live. Would that help?**

Stiles jumped in.

**> >>She's in the library right now if you want someone to ask.**

**< <<Liam, if you remember their address text me it. Stiles, don't say anything related to foster things, just go talk to her. Everyone meet at Deaton's after school. **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Language, minor violence, minor bullying


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter may be confusing (it's sorta meant to be a bit) but I promise everything will be cleared up. Italicized quotes are memories/in Ronnie's head. 
> 
> See end notes for warnings on specific chapters

Once upon a time, Ronnie used to believe in everything. They weren’t the type of beliefs meant to keep you sane, to give you a reason, something to ground you, especially when times were rough, the light at the end of the tunnel nowhere to be seen. No, hers were a distraction, something to make her forget about the truth, no matter how short-lived it may be. The ones that pulled her away from the reality that threatened to save her, to suffocate her, to snuff out the few remaining sparks of embers that still dimly burned inside her.

Even now, she could still remember what it was like to have childish dreams. To believe in silly things like magic and Santa Clause —though her belief in St Nick was short-lived. She used to believe of a magical wardrobe that would send her far, far away from this land. Send her to one full of magical creatures, of kings and queens, of princes and princesses. That, maybe one day, she could be whisked away, off to the second star to the right, that she would fly straight on till morning to a land where she would never grow old.

She dreamed of meeting mermaids and faeries —those always intrigued, just as Pegasus’s and dragons— or of boarding a ship headed towards nowhere in particular.

It never mattered how hard she wished for all of it to real. A part of her, deep down, always knew the cold, hard truth. That wishes couldn’t be made in wells, that no ship in the night would be coming to take her away, that there were no such things as mermaids or faeries, of lands hidden in furniture. She knew no amount of crying, begging, or dreaming was ever going to change that. Her reality was, and would always be, simply that; real.

There was no changing that, no escaping it despite how desperately she wished and dreamed there would be, and there never would be. She had no magical lamp, no fairy godmother, and no shooting star to listen to her foolishness. Her wishes were something whispered amidst the dark of the night, shared only to the moon, the stars, and the trees, kept between them and only them.

A wish that things could be different. That she could have a place to call her home, to feel safe and comfortable in. To have people who cared about her, who were willing to hold her together when she felt like falling apart. Someone to love her unconditionally, the way her mother and father should have. A wish that she knew would never come true.

Disappointment wasn’t a new emotion to her, and only so much could hurt before she had become numb to it, and surely she had reached the limit of such childish things —life had a funny way of proving quite the opposite— so she continued to dream as if her life depended on it, believing with everything she had. Fairy tales being just another story certainly wasn’t worth the time to dwell over, not in a life where nothing is forever. That included her only friends, the moon, the stars, and the trees that kept her secrets hidden away, perhaps only revealed to fellow a passerby who too shared their secrets to the night.

_“We want you to be apart of our family.”_

Those words still rang in her ears by morning, as did the rest of that conversation. From the moment they pulled her away from the party’s crowd, tucking away in a quiet hallway, to after when she curiously followed them into a rather large storage closet. Her mind hadn’t stopped screaming from when Ricardo’s presence became known, The images were engraved into her mind, carved into her skull, and tattooed to the inside of her eyelids, one particular image still making her shutter.

Everything seemed too much like a dream. The way the sun rose, the colours that just barely peeked over the mountains and through the trees, an ethereal glow of purples, oranges, yellows, and reds, the kind of sunset you would only see once. How her mind felt hazy, the world muffled as she got dressed for her morning lessons, trying —and failing— not to over-analyze the hundreds of thoughts that had yet to calm.

_“Scared, lil’ sis?”_

Ricardo’s voice mocked her, the tension in her shoulders returning as she remembered the way his arm was carefully swung across her shoulders, one hand holding her to the chair as if he knew she wanted to run. She still wasn’t sure how she had managed to survive through that night, the memories clouding her thoughts, barely able to dodge when a punch was thrown her way, eyes snapping up to focus on Corey, or attempt to as he took a few other swings.

She tried not to overthink how numb she felt that night. The way her skin lightly tingled with pins and needles, her entire body feeling as if it had fallen asleep, and her muscles were sore —from what, she didn’t know. It took everything in her to focus on Corey, dodging his attack and colliding her fist against his chin, just as it had taken everything to focus on what Mr and Mrs Márquez were saying as the ringing of panic grew louder and louder.

 _“This type of thing,”_ —Mr Márquez’s voice was thick with honey, a type of careful tone laced with a kind and gentleness his wife and Ricardo never bothered even attempting to fake— _“it takes time to register.”_ She had hardly processed much of anything, hadn’t been able to since they entered the storage room, since they told her _everything_. _“We don’t expect you to be okay with all of this in just one day. I hope you know that.”_

 _“We can’t delay this for more than a few days.”_ Ricardo pitched in with a roll of his eyes, squeezing her into his side as he said, _“No pressure there.”_

A few days? She almost laughed —or was it chocked— at his words. They were mental. It was the only thing that made sense, the only thing that _could_ be plausible because there was no other explanation. There just wasn’t. She had enough experience with drugs to know that not even those could be responsible for the complete seriousness in their tones, the looks on their faces, the _photos_.

 _Werewolves._ The word sounded strange, even in her mind, echoing as if there was nothing else to occupy that space, bouncing off the walls of her skull and tickling something inside her. Her immediate urge to laugh was knocked out… no, _ripped_ out of her with claws and a laugh of its own when the images were placed in front of her.

It had to be some terrible joke, a prank that she was victim to, the pictures had to be faked. Make-up and special effects could do wondrous things, could make you believe in anything when used the right way, but the sick churning in her gut told her _no_. _These aren’t fake_. She almost sobbed at the realization; she couldn’t breathe. No sane person possibly could, not when she was just told the supernatural is real. Not when she was staring down at a photo, eyes flaring as if the flash had come from them, claws wrapped around a neck, fangs buried deep inside its pray. And the blood…

 _“If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”_ Mrs Márquez insisted.

There was an endless number of questions, but Ronnie wouldn’t have been able to voice any of them regardless. Even if she weren’t so tense with the atmosphere the room had consumed, or the strong arm still gripping her shoulder with an intensity she had no doubt would bruise her, any ability to think, even remotely, phased into a constantly repeated word when Ricardo leaned forward, pulling the photo down to reveal an array of others.

Others full of familiar faces. Faces she had stood beside at the party, maniacal smiles as they all gathered around one clear point, the focus of each image. Teenagers, maybe adults in their early twenties, even a child who couldn’t have been more than eleven, all hanging from their neck, body in two, blood dripping down different variants of injuries.

_Fuck._

She thought she was going to be sick. Hell, she _wanted_ to be sick because maybe then they would see she is flawed. They couldn’t possibly want her if she couldn’t look at such gruesome things, but she knew the blood, the death, the smiles, it was all hardly the reason she felt bile rising in her throat.

Nothing about those photos set her off in that way. Plenty of other ways for more than one hundred reasons, but not enough to make her sick. It was the occupants in the room, the people she lived with, had been living with for almost two months now. The people who claimed to care about her, claimed to want what was best for her, claimed to love her even, who were looking down at the images with a satisfied, relaxed expression. Something so absurdly _normal_ compared to the ones she saw displayed before her, the ones where Mr and Mrs Márquez could be spotted, Ricardo too, sharing the same look of lust as the others.

Her stomach lurched.

 _“There is an alpha_ _—supposedly one of the greats— who goes to your school.”_ Mrs Márquez told her and Ronnie’s skin crawled. She wanted to bolt out of the room, get as far away from them, from the world as she possibly could. Her head started to throb, still desperately grasping for straws, desperate for an explanation, a reason why they would do such a thing. _Werewolves_ , a voice that made her heart clench, one she knew undoubtedly to belong to Ricardo, echoed in her mind.

_“You would never even know what_ it _was.”_ Mrs Márquez continued _. “They blend in, like any other teen.”_ There was a type of venom sticking to the words she spat out with disgust, one that sent a chill down Ronnie’s spine. _“We think you can help us find it.”_

They didn’t want her going to school, not when there was so much they needed to prepare her for, and certainly not when Mr Márquez saw just how pale she was. He tried, they all did, to insist she stay home and just process everything. She knew she should have, that school wouldn’t have been the best place to be at while her head spun and throbbed, while her stomach churned, and her chest tightened.

It was the mere thought of staying there, being anywhere near that family, of being near Mrs Márquez and Ricardo, and how it made her skin crawl, almost sending her hurtling toward the bathroom, that made her certain of her decision. There was something in the way they repeated, _“monsters”_ , of the way it was hissed out, the hatred in their eyes, something that was far from human. Something that had her wondering… maybe they aren’t wrong about monsters, but more so on _who_ they are.

She reluctantly agreed to let Ricardo pick her up after school, the only way they would _let_ her go in the first place, and despite the way it made her mind scream and her heart race, breathing quickening in a way all too familiar for her liking, she was desperate to be away from them.

Everything hurt, and she felt exhausted before the sun came up, unable to get even a wink of sleep all night long. She relaxed more during the lessons, even comfortable enough to slid against the wall, taking her spot closer to Corey than before, and rested her head on his shoulder, trying —and failing— to control her breathing.

He said nothing but the worried glances didn’t go unnoticed, and when Mason arrived to drive them to school, Corey pulled him to the side, the two talking in whispers that Ronnie could have heard if she strained enough, but her head still throbbed so she moved into the familiar car, resting her head against the window. She closed her eyes while she waited. For what, she wasn’t entirely sure, only that whatever it was never came, leaving her disappointed.

 _No. No, no, no, fuck no_. Ronnie pressed her palms hard against her temples, tempted to crush her skull, get it over with so she doesn’t have to see those images every time she closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure when she started hyperventilating, grateful that the two in the front seat were too distracted to see her spiral, likely looking just as mental as the family she lived with. The family she wouldn’t be able to get away from without leaving Beacon Hills, without hurting people she cared about.

She sobbed, and while no sound came from it —just a moment where she chocked back on the sound that almost escaped through her throat’s electric fence— she cupped her hand over her mouth. _“_ _—like any other teen_ _—”_ Her heart started to race. The images raced through her mind, her headache throbbing in rhythm with each gasp of breath she took. They were going to kill a teenager. A fucking kid, someone no different than her, all because they are so convinced that these “monsters” need to be ridden from the world, would be killed in such an inhumane way.

 _Liam_. Her eyes widened. _Corey. Mason. Scott. Kira. Stiles. Lydia. Malia._ All of them, the entire school, someone she doesn’t even know, could be in any amount of danger, and this whole time she had been selfishly trying to decide how to leave before anyone suspected it. She cursed herself out, went on and on about how stupid she was to ever get attached.

 _You’re going to get yourself killed_ , the annoying voice groaned, and she couldn’t find the mute button. The one that says, “fuck off, mind your own business” and slams the door before anything else could be exchanged.

All too quickly —according to the worried expression Corey sent her— she was scrambling out of the car, unable to breathe. She could feel the world spinning as she bolted off to the library, hiding there, not wasting a second to get to work. It was foolish to even think for a second that maybe, just maybe, these people weren’t as crazy as she believed, because she couldn’t let herself consider anything else, couldn’t think that innocent people were being _murdered_ all because some psychos were high on drugs.

It was stupid, _beyond_ stupid, even to think of for a minuscule second. No, she couldn’t… she wouldn’t. She refused to admit that… _that_ could possibly be real. Even so, she mindlessly wandered into the mythical aisle of the library, the one she had caught Mason skimming in so often, always looking embarrassed when she approached him. It never occurred to her to ask him why not until then at least. Not until she herself was running her finger across the spine of a book titled “Lycanthropy” with a curious, hesitant gaze.

She pulled out a few every so often, flipping through the pages, never actually taking in the words out of fear. It wasn’t like her usual fear, the one she was used to and knew how to deal with. This one was different because it wasn’t the unknown or the new that was scaring her, but the possibility that she may already know. She wasn’t sure how, or why, but that feeling only grew, swelling in her gut the more she scanned over images of beasts with claws and fangs, as she read of eyes that glowed in the dark and uncontrollable emotions. Of traits similar to those of a wolf.

 _Loyalty._ Her eyes stopped on the word, reading over it again as if it were someone she recognized in passing. _Pack._ She squeezed her eyes shut, screaming for that awful clenching in her gut to “go away”. _Anger_. It jumped that time, demanding her to pay attention, to see what is so evidently in front of her, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to, wasn’t ready to, nor was she entirely sure she would ever be.

There were few —awfully rare— occasions where she was grateful for her “disabilities” as most people referred to them as, most at a loss for a better term, others honest and full of disgust. The one that prevented her from making a single sound, that caused her throat to swell, blocking all attempts at even a whine or a groan, cutting off her breathing in the process. She had no doubt it would be the last time either, not with the swirling, overwhelming emotions battling for dominance over her mind for the past 12-hours. Maybe even a week now, she wasn’t sure.

The slamming of the book overpowered the hushed voices in the library, eliciting a few startled gasps and glares from those around, her white knuckles barely loosening the grip around the book as she pushed it back one the shelf. It was loud enough as it was without caving in to the urge to release a series of swears and screams, the latter clawing at her throat since last night, pleading to be let out, but her body reacted before her mind. Her throat closed and she chocked, the breath she was taking unable to find an escape route.

Her search went on for a few, though there was no knowing how long it had been, not with how poorly her concept of time was already without the constant distractions bouncing around in her head. She only gave up when her legs were far too weak to hold her up any longer, giving in to the need to rest, slumping into a chair with an exhausted sigh.

Everything still ached. She knew it would for a few more days, at least until the tension in her muscles unclenched, but that hardly happened during her idea of normal circumstances, so she didn’t get her hopes up. The world continued to gyrate, the movements making her dizzy, her vision fading in and out that she almost believed was the exhaustion finally consuming her, but when her head felt lighter she realized it wasn’t that.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to take a breath, for her throat to relax, and she gasped when it finally did. Her breaths were far too quick, too rushed to pull in enough air to fill her lungs, but she made no move to correct herself. Not that she entirely knew how, and she had been dealing with this enough to know she wouldn’t _die_ from her shallow breaths, only that she may end up in the nurse’s office, maybe a blue tint to her lips —if there was enough colour in them, to begin with.

Once her vision had relatively cleared she leaned into the chair, eyeing her surroundings like prey suddenly aware of the lurking predators. Her attention lazily fell onto the computer in front of her, her reflection staring back at her in the black void. She looked awful, more so than usual, and while she couldn’t see the colour on her face on the screen, she knew there was a lack of colour. _When was the last time I ate?_

The rules of the library were always perfectly clear, signs posted on every wall and corner, sticky notes on book covers and the corners of computer frames. They were always in your line of sight, the bright neon colours nearly impossible to miss, yet still Ronnie wondered; how easy would it be to play the “dumb new girl” card? She chewed on her bottom lip, not really considering the consequences as she ran her fingers over the braille keyboard, enjoying the feeling on her skin despite how muted the touch was.

Computers were meant for school use only. That meant no checking personal emails, no searching lyrics, no playing solitaire, and no researching personal interests. She pressed the button without so much as a second thought, the screen far too bright for her tired, likely red eyes, and she had to blink away the tears that begged to mend the burning sensation. The sound of pecking on the keyboard was satisfying, filling the quiet of the library and muffling her raucous thoughts.

 _What?_ Ronnie so desperately wanted to ask hundreds of questions, get at least one answer to calm the overwhelm, but her thoughts only went as far as repeating that one syllable. She felt numb now, that question still echoing in her mind, more tolerable than piercing, screaming for attention, for answers. It was far different from the fear laced in the word when her fingers lifted a photo off the desk, unable to comprehend what it was she was looking at. Not _wanting_ to but _needing_ to.

The red stains didn’t seem to bother Mrs Marquez who finally leaned forward, lifting that particular photo with a gentle fondness one would see on a mother with her newborn, and handing it off to Ronnie. She thought she was going to be sick before, back when only the brushing of her shoulder against Ricardo’s was causing her skin to crawl, when the air was too thick in that small room, but as her eyes scanned over the photo, she had to force herself to swallow the bile in her mouth.

She could still see the image so clearly in her mind as she stared at the blank search bar on the screen. The black and white photos all looked the same, but this one had called to her in a way that made her stomach churn. It felt so light in her hand, weightless compared to the dumbbells that landed on her shoulders upon seeing the photo, the smooth top almost satisfying if it weren’t for the crust around the edges, the red stains a texture so similar to dried paint. She almost let herself believe it, even if she would have been beyond naïve for doing to.

It was clearly a boy in either junior or senior year of high school. His long hair stuck to his skin slick with sweat that was so visible, glistening in the poor resolution photo. There was something on his wrist, a tattoo most likely, the symbols disappearing beneath his sleeves and preventing her from distracting herself with them any further, but the strange ovals stuck out in her mind, something that a voice told her to remember. _You won’t regret it_ , it said.

His face was forever frozen with an open mouth, eyes wide with terror. Blood trickled down his chin, and her eyes followed it. She wasn’t sure how she made no noise when she travelled down, wasn’t sure how her throat closed up just in time to prevent the cry from ripping through once she landed on his torso. It was so cleanly cut, something she would have thought couldn’t be done, something only ever seen in movies or shows, yet there it way. While the image wasn’t nearly large enough —the perfect size to fit in a wallet— for everything, but his legs were still visible at the bottom of the photo.

Ricardo stood evidently in the photo; his presence almost impossible to miss once she spotted the blade caked with a dark colour that made a whimper attempt to escape. He was clear enough that she could see his dark eyes that looked almost lifeless in the black and white image, but the glint in them was nothing similar to the hollow, faded look in the boy’s. A look that would have made it so easy to believe it was just some poorly done photoshop or art project. She prayed that it was.

The picture was taken just as blood dripped from the boy’s torso; the drop frozen midair as it made its way to the ground. There was a satisfied smirk on Ricardo’s face as he stood behind the dead boy, lustful eyes locked on the clean-cut made on the body. _“Cleaner that way,”_ He whispered, breath uncomfortably hot against her ear as he leaned over her shoulder, eyeing the photo with a mirrored look, only this time he looked impressed and reminiscent. _“No chance of them healing like this. Not even werewolves can recover from it.”_

There were so many others, _too_ many others, all sprawled out on the table for her to see, shown off as if they were their greatest achievements, like they were trophies. Not all were nearly as gruesome as the one still in her small, miraculously still hands, but none were better. They each left a vile taste in her mouth, her mind victim of a thousand thoughts per second, racing, to the point that she thought she’d overexert herself. She had gasped for breath, the action too silent to be noticed by anyone, and she did it again, and again, and as she looked at all the images, the worse she got.

She felt it again while sitting in front of the computer. Felt the way her lungs started to grind against each other, her mouth going dry as she tried —and failed— to suck in air. Dozens of websites about myths and legends, some fandoms, tales, were opened on the screen, the mouse clicking between each tab with a loud _click_ , the noise startling her every time she made it. Nothing told her anything, nothing confirmed nor denied what she was told. It hurt to breathe, hurt to even try, so she returned to holding her breath, consumed by the screen in front of her. Her brain screamed at her, reminded her that she needs to breathe before she passes out.

Before she gets sent back to the Márquez’s due to idiocrasy.

Her throat clamped up, preventing a scream from tearing through as a loud shriek rang in her mind, causing her to jump up far worse than necessary. The sound of metal ricocheted, a snap echoing behind it, and she knew this was something her mind was conjuring up, that there wasn’t an active shooter on the campus, that even if there was she wouldn’t have been able to hear the bullet bounce off the ground, not with all the commotion around her.

“Whoa,” The familiar voice pulled her from her thoughts before they became too loud again, relaxing as she saw Stiles throw himself in the seat across from her. His brows drew together, furrowing with worry as he took in her state. She knew enough to know he likely thought she was a madwoman, briefly wondering herself if maybe she was. “You a bit on edge today?”

A shaky breath passed her lips, the ability to do the simple human instinct coming back. She nodded slowly even though on edge would be the greatest understatement she’s heard. He tilted his head to the side, inspecting her as if he could look right through her, see her patent lie. Her body tensed more under his gaze and she forced her attention back to the screen, eyeing over the contents with a puzzled frown.

She wondered, just for a brief moment, if he didn’t already believe she was mental, how easy would it be to tip the iceberg? How insane would he believe she was if she were to ask his opinion on the matter? The thought went as far as, _“What are your thoughts on werewolves?”_ a question that might seem innocent if she didn’t look like she was taking some kind of drugs. She bit her lip, swallowing back the temptation. Even if she could, she wasn’t going to voice that question. Not when she was on the verge of falling apart and his presence was keeping her somewhat sane.

He placed his phone on the table, the familiar notepad —everyone started to use it once they discovered Liam’s use of it— staring up at her. She glanced back up at him, head tilted animatedly in a silent question. If the day hadn’t been too much already, she would have known she wasn’t entirely lost in her mind, not enough that she wouldn’t have noticed him saying something, but she still doubted it, moving her hand up to chew anxiously on the sleeve hiding her palms.

“In case you feel like sharing what’s got you so…” He tapped his finger on the table. Once, twice, three times before a strained smile tugged at his lips. “Tense.”

 _Rough night_.

It wasn’t entirely false; she hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. The images flashed through her mind every time she so much as blinked, and her nightmares were especially difficult lately without the newly made memories. She shrugged as she turned the phone so he could read it, hoping he wouldn’t ask any more questions since she wasn’t entirely sure how to answer any of them. At least, not without giving away just how pathetic she is on a daily when there isn’t a slight, plausible chance she’s living with psychopaths.

His frown consumed his features, snuffing out the bright smile that now hid under a dark cloud she brought upon him. With a sigh, she closed all tabs. There wasn’t much she’d be able to get done, not with Stiles distracting her. It was a welcome distraction, don’t get her wrong, but she still felt a little disappointed as she turned off the computer.

She glanced back up, waiting for him to say something, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. He was still staring down at her message that seemed to have an effect on him, a power she didn’t expect those two words to be capable of. It wasn’t anything deep, something that would have made others frown and question if she were okay, just a simple message. People have rough nights all the time, so much that they would have read over her message and shrugged, moving on with their life without giving it a second thought.

Stiles, she was learning quickly, wasn’t like the rest. None of his friends were for that matter. He leaned back in his seat; eyes still focused on the phone. “You know,” He said carefully as if he weren’t sure whether this was something he should say or not. “Rough nights are sort of a common thing in Beacon Hills.”

Those words had her perking up, brow-raising as she collided with a wave of intrigue, her attention fully locked on what he had to say. She grabbed the phone from him, tapping away eagerly on the keyboard, desperate for an answer, not even frowning when she realized she had learned nothing. If there was one thing that she knew about Stiles, it was that he loved to answer questions, especially difficult ones, the same reason that her earlier question still lingered in the back of her mind, not ready to test the waters but eyeing them with interest.

_What do you mean?_

“I mean… like… nightmares, and shit.” He shrugged, shifting awkwardly in his seat and oblivious to her eyes widening. “I used to have them bad.” She almost leaned forward, listening intently to what he had to say, but she wrapped her arms around her body instead, holding them tight. “Could barely get through the day without completely panicking, and the nights where I could, they’d be a whole other wagon of ‘hell nah’.”

_Do you still have them?_

He shook his head. “They aren’t as bad anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still get them occasionally, I just know how to deal with them when I wake up.” She wasn’t sure when she returned to chewing on her sleeve, only catching it when Stiles smiled at the action, something he always did whenever he caught her doing one of her nervous ticks. “You have anything important today?” Her heart stopped, eyes widening a fraction before he shook his head, quickly correcting himself. “In class. Do you have anything important _in class_?”

_No?_

“Feel like getting some fro-yo?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language, referenced violence, panic/anxiety attacks


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings on specific chapters

History class had never sounded more appealing than in the dragged-out seconds before class, and Liam wondered if that was something that should have concerned him. He wasn’t regretting his decision to come to school —not yet at least— but he wasn’t very thrilled about being there either. The first bell hadn’t even rung by the time he fell back into the dark, _loud_ abyss in his mind, staring blankly ahead into his open locker.

The strength to keep his eyes open was becoming exhausting, feeling heavier after each blink, begging to remain shut even if it was just for a few more seconds. His head would bob during those seconds, the ones where he gave up fighting it, letting his eyes flutter shut until the distant chatter reminded him where he was. It had never been very safe at the school, and certainly not enough for him to zone out entirely, so he would snap back and shake it away before it all became too much.

He tried to focus on something else, anything that wasn’t his deprecating thoughts, the desire to relax, but especially the pacing wolf within him. It was distracting, keeping him on edge, his anger far too close to the surface for comfort, but the one thing it craved was nowhere to be heard. Counting down the time until the bell released him from the mental prison he fell inside only aggravated the beast more, but it quieted the thoughts enough to be able to breathe. To be able to think.

If it weren’t for the pop quiz they weren’t supposed to know about, he may have taken advantage of sitting in the back of history. It tempted him, even if the subject had been getting interesting lately, itching at his curiosity unlike any subject before, enough that he willingly studied and did his homework. The monotonous voice of their teacher killed it for him, with her constant lectures, black and white documentaries even a fan of the subject would have chosen to sleep.

That temptation was gone once a pair of green eyes with silver specks flashed in his mind, his wolf perking up, halting the pacing. Ronnie’s seat behind him frustrated the wolf, remembering that the only way to see her would be to turn their back, drawing attention from everyone around, and Liam felt the frustration morphed into anger.

She could almost see whenever it started to burn at his skin, noticing something change in his demeanour enough for her to swing her legs, kicking him till he turned to glare at her. He was sure that one of these days his eyes would flare amber, but the second he looked into her eyes the burning cooled, her smile warm but affecting him like ice, soothing the pain and petting the wolf. It should have pissed him off more, just like it did whenever Mason or Corey kicked or bumped him, but not with her.

The wolf calmed, even if it wasn’t by much, relaxing at the reminder of her efforts in calming them, knowingly or not. He focused on her smile, conjured up her heartbeat that always raced too fast for his liking, but his shoulders relaxed, and his wolf sat down. His thoughts quieted their buzzing, every nerve and muscle in his body craving for the comfort she provided, for her icy touch to soothe the boiling anger that never calmed, not since the bite, and hardly ever before.

His eyes had fallen to stare at a strange stain on the floor, body slumped forward with his hands buried in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. The wolf caught the sound of footsteps heading their way, but he made no move to do anything, to put on a smile and act like everything was fine. He lost that ability the second he pulled on the hoodie instead of normal clothes, clothes that wouldn’t have made his friends think into his behaviour, likely deciding it’s just stress and moving on.

Mason’s body was thrown against him, the wolf having to jump to its feet to stop them both from hurtling to the ground. “Hey man,” His best friend grumbled, head hitting his shoulder with a thunk, and if Liam wasn’t as tired as his best friend surely felt, he may have teased him for it. The next words were muffled into his sleeve, the sound not even eligible to a werewolf. Liam smiled, something small and hardly there, as he lifted the head enough to hear what was said.

“Rude,” Mason grumbled, eyes closed, and body only held up by Liam. “Any idea what Lydia wants us to meet her for after school?”

“None.” Liam huffed and dropped his human’s head, letting it return to the surely uncomfortable pillow that his shoulder had become. “Where’s Corey?”

He lifted his head on his own this time, moving to lean against the lockers, hitting his head a bit too hard on the metal. “Wanted to check on Ronnie before class.” It was impossible for Mason not to notice the way Liam’s entire body tensed, eyes now wide and mind clear. The wolf returned to pacing, holding the fire near his anger, prepared for the worse. “I’m sure she’s fine, just a bit jumpy today.” That didn’t relax him, nor did Mason’s added, “Maybe you can work your magic and calm her down again.”

“What magic?” Liam tried to act unphased by it all, like there wasn’t worry pulsing through him, even if he knew Mason would see right through his act. The entire pack would have. “All we did was pass her notebook back and forth until the bell rang.”

“Magic.” Mason said as if it were quite obvious. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did, and relaxed into the lockers that must have been far worse than Liam’s shoulder. “I can’t be the only one tired, right?”

Liam sighed. _Not at all_. “Why were you up all night?”

“I wasn’t up _all_ night, not like Lydia. She was still texting me at 3 and 4 in the morning and then scolded me for falling asleep at my computer.” Mason shook his head and Liam was glad his eyes were still closed, unable to see the amusement dancing across his own face. “We were trying to figure out who these rogue hunters are.” His eyes flickered open, eyeing Liam as he started to put things in his backpack, finally preparing for class with less than five minutes. “Scott’s been keeping you updated, right?”

“Sort of.” Liam closed the locker, leaning against it, his arm brushing against Mason’s who quickly took advantage, resting his head back on the shoulder. “He updated me this morning, but it was a _lot_.”

A lot was quite the understatement. The pack had been dealing with the rogue hunters for almost a month now, doing their best to keep Liam, Mason, and Corey as out of the loop as they could without putting the three in danger. Liam needed to know, he needed to be apart of this fight even if every bone in his body screamed to be as far away from it as possible. It was hard to convince himself, even harder to convince his alpha to let him help, insistent that it was what he wanted and not some obligation to the pack, the lie rolling off his tongue too easily.

He had pleaded and begging until his alpha caved, making himself clear that he wasn’t keen on the idea, but there was a look of understanding in his soft eyes. A look that made Liam whimper with pain, a familiar wave of pity brushing against him. Scott didn’t want him to be apart of this, not because of his IED or lack of control, but because he didn’t want the beta to get hurt. It felt good, in a way, knowing it wasn’t his fault for something.

The information overload was necessary, and Scott tried to deliver it all in pieces. It hadn’t occurred to the beta just how much he hadn’t been aware of. He got so used to knowing, of being a part of the hushed conversations and secret meetings that he almost forgot what it had been like being on the other end of it all. What it was like to be told the town was in danger and that the threat was right under their nose, that it was up to them, a group of teenagers whose leader may not be able to graduate because of his grades and attendance.

There wasn’t much they knew, and the pack was left on edge with all of the unknown. They could hardly do anything with what they had, pulling at loose strings now, and whether or not Ronnie would be involved was still a mystery. Stiles decided for everyone that she was still someone they should be cautious of, especially now that they knew she fit the criteria a little too closely, almost as if it were sculpted to fit her.

Past teenagers that were roped into the supernatural world showed signs that they were aware, that they knew more than others. They were a minor threat to the operation and over time it became necessary to tell them when school was out, over breaks or three-day weekends, just to give them time to process everything. With the holidays approaching, the pack all suspected that if she didn’t know yet, that would be when they told her. It would give her time to return to school appearing nonchalant, keeping others in the dark of any possible danger.

Most of the pack —specifically Malia, Lydia, and Scott— were confident that knowing wouldn’t change anything. That Ronnie wasn’t capable of that kind of cruelty. She flinched whenever someone got a paper cut and looked worried when Stiles showed up with a bruise from walking into a corner. There was too much good in her heart, and they all wanted desperately to believe it, including Stiles, but they remained cautious. Always prepared for the worse.

They had found another body that weekend, something that no one bothered to inform Liam about which had his wolf growling. It was a lone omega who posed no threat to the pack or town, found a few miles in the woods, close enough to society to be considered messy. Her prosthetic leg had been used as a bat, wrapped in barbed wire, and drenched in blood, until there was too much damage for her wolf to heal, cause of death blunt force trauma.

Corey had been the one to find it, the one to call Scott and tell him everything. He spotted it during his walk home from work, catching the tail end of the scene, of them wiping the scene clean of any evidence they were ever there. They were rushing off when Corey spotted the man holding the leg who turned back, able to feel the eyes on him.

The man had sent a dazzling, bone-chilling smirk before running off, leaving Corey to hide out in a convenience store until Kira came and picked him up. He spent the night at Mason’s after that and had been since, not wanting to return home for any reason, especially not after what he saw.

Liam’s anger had been momentarily directed toward the couple who didn’t think it necessary to tell him. His alpha said it was because there was no immediate threat, that Corey was human, and the police were never told anything. He didn’t threaten the operation, didn’t try to stop the men from doing anything. As long as he didn’t say anything, Corey would be fine, and Mason decided that there was no point worrying Liam over it.

He disagreed. These hunters were considered rogue for a reason. They were known for harming humans to get what they want, and spotting the hunters wasn’t something that he believed would go unpunished. Maybe Scott was right, it had been days, and no one did anything. Corey was fine other than the usual amount of shaken up, and Mason was more paranoid than usual, but Argent promised to keep a close eye on the boy until they knew how to stop them.

They had suspects, and Corey said he would be able to recognize the hunter if he saw them again, that even in the dim light his dark eyes were distinguishable, and the smirk had been burned into his brain, something that surely tormented him in his nightmares. Liam didn’t like it, none of them did, but they didn’t have anything else to go on.

“Any luck?” Liam asked, referring to research with Lydia, interrupting his thoughts before they were too consuming, and the overwhelming suffocated him.

“I’m hoping that’s what Lydia wants to talk about.” Mason said through a yawn, rubbing his knuckles against his eyes. He smiled a bit, glancing up at Liam. “Wanna bet she got zero sleep but will be more awake than any of us?”

“Ten dollars says she’s had nothing but coffee all morning.”

Mason perked up at the sound of his boyfriend’s voice, pushing away from Liam to receive a peck from Corey, lighting up immediately and any ounce of exhaustion tugging at his features was gone. The two greeted each other like they hadn’t seen the other in days, and with the new knowledge that they were bunking together, it made the action tooth-rotting sweet. Still, Liam couldn’t find the energy to pretend to be annoyed by them, smiling as his best friend nuzzled against Corey who wrapped his arm around his shoulder.

“You look like shit.” Corey said once he got Mason comfortable, eyes scanning over Liam who rolled his eyes.

“Wow,” —he chuckled dryly— “thanks.” Corey smiled apologetically while Mason tried to cover his snickering, stopping only when Corey kissed him, effectively shutting him up. “How’s Ronnie?” He asked once the two pulled away, aching to know the answer.

Corey’s eyes drifted toward that strange stain on the title, a frown taking over his bright smile. He shrugged. “She looked… okay, I guess?” Liam rocked on his feet, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tried to process what the hell that could possibly mean. “I don’t know, there’s just something off. She was talking to Stiles who seemed to be doing a decent job at cheering her up, but… I don’t know.”

He tried to remain calm, unlike Corey who was embraced by his boyfriend, eyes filled with worry that Mason’s reflected. That did little to relax Liam’s always pacing wolf, especially with the knowledge that something was “off” with his anchor. Lydia had asked for Stiles to go talk to her, he saw it in the pack’s group chat, and it only caused him to tense up more. Did she know something too? Had they finally discovered what part she played in all of this?

“We should probably get to class.” Corey muttered sadly, to who in particular Liam couldn’t tell. He groaned at the thought, the sound mimicked by Mason who nodded in agreement. “You can’t avoid reality forever, you know.” He said and his boyfriend groaned again, this time making Liam smile.

Three synchronized buzzes came from the boys, startling each of them. They exchanged a look, far too used to what that meant; there was a new text on the group chat. Liam took a deep breath. Those weren’t always bad, even if recently they had been nothing but that. Sometimes they were simple, quick texts asking where they were meeting for lunch, or reminding them of schoolwork, lacrosse practice, or some event Lydia wanted them to go to with her.

The message flashed across the screen, Stiles’s name not doing anything to relax him as he opened the message. It almost made him laugh, and if he wasn’t so exhausted he just might have.

**> >>Emergency Fro-yo. Meet at the jeep in five. **

Liam read it over again before looking up at Mason and Corey, the two mirroring his same confused, yet slightly amused expression. Corey smiled, a twinkle flickering in his eyes, one that had both boys groaning. Another buzz sounded from the phones, only two this time and Corey looked up from his phone, his smile brighter.

 **> >>See you in five**.

“What happened to going to class?” Liam mused. Corey just shrugged.

“Shut up!” Mason hissed as if he were scared the simple reminder would have Corey changing his mind. “No one in their right mind would ever say no to ditching school for fro-yo.” He said matter-of-factly, texting back his reply as if it were the easiest thing he had done all week. Liam wondered if that was the case.

**> >>Liam and I too! **

* * *

Ronnie felt more at ease once they stepped out of the high school, following Stiles as he skipped toward the parking lot, going on about how he couldn’t believe she didn’t know what fro-yo was. “It’s a basic human right.” He said, throwing his arms in the air before scowling ahead. She held her hand over her mouth, hiding her smile behind it as she hopped off the sidewalk and onto the street, jogging to keep up with the enraged Stilinski.

The air was clearer out there, not as stuffy, full of hormonal teenagers, and void of the crisp potent smell in the library. It was colder, the air biting that day with no help from the strong gusts of wind that shook the trees, but she still preferred it over being inside. She could breathe easily out there, not just because of Stiles’s ranting —though that did make her thoughts easier to ignore— but because she didn’t feel the weight crushing her when the wind had her body shivering and teeth chattering, effectively distracting her.

Inside she could hear the piercing bell ringing, the sound still making her tense even from the distance. She leaned against the jeep Stiles had so proudly shown off a few minutes ago, watching as he tried to wrestle on a jacket while trying to send a text, moving on to complaining about the cold instead of her “lack of childhood”.

“I swear,” Stiles joined her against the jeep, eyes glaring daggers at the phone. She almost followed his gaze, curious to what had him looking at the device like it had killed his grandmother. A harsh woman hissed at her and she snapped her eyes toward the asphalt, shaking off the urge with the sharp reminder of how a ruler felt against her hand. “If these assholes don’t show up, I’m going to murder someone.”

His phone dinged in his hand and he smiled triumphantly. “Looks like the puppies will be joining us.” He said and held the phone toward her, allowing her to read over the two new messages that flashed on the screen. She tilted her head to the side, reading over the contact names, breathing out a laugh as she did. “Corey is ‘Invisible Man’, and Mason is ‘Runt’s Mentor’.”

She pointed at the others that flashed across the screen. He pointed at the first message with a sigh, the contact name forcing a breath out of her, something Mason had deemed her way of snort laughing; _Big Spoon_ “That would be Malia. You can tell because she told me to fuck off.” Their attention was dragged to the two new messages, one from _Strawbaby_ and another from _Mamma Wolf_. “Lydia and Scott, I have no explanation for theirs.” He said sheepishly and took his phone back, hiding it in his pocket.

The action proved pointless once the phone dinged three more times and Stiles groaned, finally pulling out the device and glaring down at it, tapping aggressively away until he huffed, hitting send with an unnecessary force. It all was rather amusing, something Ronnie never thought she’d think while watching a senior angrily text. “Everyone is joining us, which means Malia and Liam are sitting with us in the car unless you want a ride from someone else.”

He handed her the phone before she could reply with a shrug, the group chat still open and texts still coming in, everyone seemingly falling into easy conversation. She tried not to read it, to open up the notepad like Stiles obviously trusted her to do, but her eyes scanned over it involuntarily, noting some things but pushing back others. The contact _Runt_ flashed on the screen, followed by _Strawbaby_ and _Nice Vixen_ , the three having a mini conversation that _Mamma Wolf_ pitched in on every few messages.

“What are they all going on about now?” Stiles asked, leaning over her shoulder, and reading the messages with an eye roll. She went to hand it back to him, but he reached over, typing out “Talk later, just get your asses to the parking lot, thank you.” and tapping send. _Runt_ sent back a middle finger emoji and _Mamma Wolf_ scolded him for it, Scott’s name making somewhat sense.

“Lydia is meeting us there,” Stiles said and moved around to the front seat, opening the door, and reaching in, rummaging around. “Scott and Kira will go on his bike. Mason and Corey will be in their car. So yeah, that leaves Malia and Liam.” He came back out with a baseball bat, holding the chunk of metal incorrectly in his hand. “I’m gonna move this to the trunk since I doubt you wanna deal with that rolling around while I drive.”

She would have asked why he had a bat, but her attention snapped back to the annoying dings coming from Stiles’s phone. Why was he letting her hold this? He knew she had read some of it, literally watched him text them back while holding the phone, yet he hadn’t bothered to take it back, just trusted her to deal with it. The string of noises wasn’t helping her aching curiosity, her mind begging for the distractions to continue, already poking at the overwhelming thoughts that had taken a break for the time being.

**Invisible Man: We’re heading over to the parking lot.**

**Mamma Wolf: Kira and I will meet you guys there. We have to get something from her dad first.**

**Runt’s Mentor: But… the fro-mergency…**

**Strawbaby: That’s not an emergency.**

**Big Spoon: What if you’re starving?**

**Strawbaby: If you’re starving and the only thing you can eat is fro-yo then I feel sorry for you.**

**Runt’s Mentor: Don’t diss fro-yo like that. It is a frozen delicacy that deserves to be loved.**

**Nice Vixen: Petition to get fro-yo the same rights as ice-cream. Fro-yo deserves love!**

**Runt: If you’re dehydrated, would melted fro-yo help?**

**Big Spoon: This is why I like you!**

**Strawbaby: I’m muting my phone.**

Ronnie recognizes the way her chest tightens a little too well. It may have been a while since she felt that way, since she longed for something, but that wasn’t a feeling that would simply disappear, that she could ever forget about. Maybe it had been better because, for the last almost two months, she had more than she believed was possible, and the little girl who dreamt of having people who cared about her was more than pleased, even if they were only pretending, even if they barely tolerated her.

There was a family who _wanted_ her, and while they may be out of their mind and in desperate need of some serious help, they still wanted her. There were kids at school who _willingly_ called her their friend, who invited her to join them for lunch or after school, who never pressured her to talk, and they weren’t anything close to normal, but neither was she. For the first time in…, she wasn’t even sure how long, she felt the illusion of being wanted, and it was nice, it really was, but that was the problem with all of it. Illusions never lasted forever.

It all terrified her; it always did —especially knowing that this family had killed kids not much older than her, that her newfound friends could be in danger. She didn’t like that feeling, not one bit, and while it was easy to forget about in the moment, when she would get lost in everything, pulled into the illusion that this could ever be her life, it wasn’t something that ever went away. That sharp, painful reminder that none of it would be real, not for her, always pulled her away.

She enjoyed the feeling of belonging, of being wanted, cared for even, but none of it made her forget that pain. The pain that always came back, that hit her and hit her hard because someone needed to remind her. This wasn’t her first-time caving; it wouldn’t be the last either. And maybe she was too far gone —thoughts too clouded by the idea, the dream— to come out of all of this unscathed. What did it matter? She wasn’t a stranger to that kind of pain, and she had survived it in the past. What was one more time?

The pain didn’t fade like it should have, like she was used to dealing with, and she knew it was because this time was different. This time was too much like the Coopers, only she hadn’t ruined all of this yet. She should. If the ache in her chest meant anything, that was it. It was her chance to get out, before it all became too much, before it destroyed her when she inevitably left.

Now was the time to do it, and she really should. Just run away now, burn all of the bridges so she can’t turn back when the pain knocks her out. She didn’t.

It hurt when the relaxing bubble she had managed to form in the safety of the parking lot, in the company of a friend —real or not— was struck, when the needle crashed through, filling the air with envy that burned on its way down, that cut her lungs and made it hard to breathe. She closed her eyes, squeezed them shut just to ensure she didn’t cry because that would only be stupid. The group chat had made her smile, pulled a laugh out of her that this group of friends seemed to do more often as of late, that only this group had ever been able to do, and maybe that was what hurt so much, but it was still pointless to cry over something she could never have. Always had been.

She felt Stiles lean against the jeep, his arm brushing hers as he surely looked over her shoulder to read his messages. The hair on the back of her neck itched, she could feel his eyes as he took in the sudden change, and she quickly tried to erase the frown that appeared too fast. It wasn’t easy, never had been when it came to faking a smile, but she understood more about joy now, enough to draw on that feeling and curl her lips up in what she hoped was believable.

Stiles wasn’t easily fooled and when she looked up to meet his kind, too caring gaze, she knew he didn’t believe her act one bit. He sent her a smile, something swirling in her eyes that he struggled to fight back, something she recognized as some strange mixture of confusion and concern. It was something she had seen too much for a lifetime, something she would gladly do without, and thankfully he looked away, taking his phone when she offered it to him, but he kept his eyes on the ground.

There was no scolding like she anticipated, and when she looked at Stiles he didn’t seem all too bothered that she had been reading his messages. He read over them himself, smiling and typing back a response, lifting his head just in time to spot three freshmen walking across the parking lot. She followed his newly focused attention, the smile finally becoming genuine as Liam, Corey, and Mason all made it to the jeep.

Corey immediately joined her against the car, elbowing her playfully, the greeting something she had gotten comfortably used to, and she easily relaxed into everything. She let herself push the tightness in her chest to the back of her mind, forgetting about it until she was alone again and let herself be fully vulnerable.

“Hey Ronnie, long time no see.” Mason said and she smiled, eyes flickering between all four boys, oddly comforted in their presence. She had never been uncomfortable around men, more women than anything else, but it still felt strange, even if this wasn’t the first time she found herself surrounded by the group. No, that wasn’t what felt strange. It was the fact that she felt safe with them, like they wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

 _“Just… keep that in mind, lil’ sis.”_ Ricardo whispered, and while she didn’t hear the threat echoing in her mind, just the words said with a smirk, something menacing in the way he looked at her, she didn’t need to.

She bit her tongue, the fear not consuming her yet, but the reminder kept her from revealing in the safe illusion. That was all it was, and these teenagers weren’t going to be able to do anything against a man _trained_ to kill. She wouldn’t let them. She couldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Language


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings on specific chapters

Ronnie’s stomach hurt, and not from some beating she deserved or spoiled food she managed to get her hands on, but from laughing. Sure, no noise came out of it, just breaths that no one could notice unless they actually paid attention to her. Her shoulders bounced and the smile grew, and it all hurts but she continued to laugh, she smiled wider, and maybe this wasn’t too bad. Pain wasn’t something that usually felt nice, never actually, but this… this she wanted to go on forever.

The day was nice, the weather sunny with only a minor breeze, enough that the group of friends decided to take over two tables outside. She didn’t participate in much, merely dragged by Stiles who pointed out what flavours she _had_ to try, eventually deciding to just get her three cups filled with a different collection of toppings, one drowning in whipped cream and a “mandatory” cherry on the top, before Lydia pulled her away and had her create one of her own. It was far too amusing, and she hadn’t been smiling that wide when it started to hurt, but she made no move to drop it.

Malia called their table the grown-up table, which was fitting considering all the seniors were seated there and the freshmen sent to the one beside them, and Stiles respectively referred to theirs —the one that Mason, Corey, Liam, and Ronnie all occupied— as the kiddie table. It made her laugh, even more when Liam growled… _literally_ growled at Stiles who raised his hands in mock surrender, and Scott scolded both of them for it.

She tried all four cups, the three that Stiles —and eventually Kira— had made for her, and the one Lydia helped her make. They were good, too much for her to eat all of, but she would rotate her spoon to each different cup and take little licks from them as she watched the others interact. Liam had given her his phone in case she wanted to join in, which she only did whenever someone dragged her into it, but she didn’t mind. If anything, she hadn’t felt so comfortable and, for once, wasn’t terrified by the revelation.

Her mind fell quiet, all of the new information finally giving her a breather, giving her permission to enjoy this even if it didn’t last that long. Even if she still knew Ricardo would be picking her up after school, that the Márquez’s planned on showing her something that they said would prove everything they said was true. She felt the thought in the back of her mind, prodding its way to the surface whenever she felt too relaxed, but even that didn’t have her heart returning to the fast-paced beat it always held.

Eventually, everyone fell into different conversations, their loud voices still filling the peaceful air. Kira was talking to Mason about the latest episode of a show they watched —Supernatural if she recalls— and how the obvious sexual tension between two characters was so frustrating, Scott and Lydia pushed their chairs slightly away from the group, talking in hushed voices that quickly caught Liam’s attention, his entire body tensing as he focused on the two, Malia and Stiles got into a mini quarrel about schoolwork that eventually had Malia kissing him to shut him up, and Corey roped her into a conversation of their own, occasionally trying to distract Liam with it but he was far too distracted.

It was all easy, maybe too easy, something that should have had her running as far away from it as possible, but she let herself fall into it. She passed the phone to Corey and watched as he got enthusiastic about the topic, sharing the recent gossip his co-workers had shared with him, or the most annoying customer of the week —a woman and her teenage daughter, quite homophobic and unaware of what respect was.

They had spent enough time in his diner for her to put faces to names, easily recognizing the woman he referred to as Karla as the waitress who always hit on her which Corey insisted she did with _everyone_. She laughed, still grazing on the different flavours which may not have been the best idea considering they were all so different, filled to the brim with an arrangement of toppings, but she wasn’t paying attention to what her taste buds had to say or the way her teeth protested at the cold sensation.

Liam joined their conversation after a while, Mason somehow dragged into it, and Ronnie realized that everyone was switching as if they were in grade school, moving from one table group to the next. Malia had joined their table, feet propped up on the chair beside Ronnie, going on about a bad experience she had with one of the teachers they _all_ despised, Mason quickly joining in as he started to rant about a comment he made. It wasn’t long after that everyone had joined in, taking turns with different topics, pulling Ronnie in for a minute or two until she eased her way back out, observing everything instead.

No one planned on returning to school, not even Scott who had commented on it being lunchtime and that they _should_ return, only to hop back into the conversation, no one bothering to make a move to do the responsible thing. Ronnie knew she would get in trouble for it, and a twisted part of her danced at the thought. Maybe the Márquez’s won’t want her anymore, not that sending her away would be the easiest thing for them considering they confessed to murdering people, but that part of her still hoped.

She wasn’t sure when she ended up on the floor, leaning against the wall while Lydia tried to teach Malia to walk in heels, Liam beside her and trying to cheer on Malia as if this were another lacrosse game and she had the ball. It was nice, easy, and she didn’t want it to end even though she knew it would. Nothing is forever, she always knew that, so when she was staring at the ground, bottom lip between her teeth trying to talk herself out of it, it was truly pointless. She should be pushing all of them away anyway, so what was the harm in stepping a bit out of her comfort zone.

The plastic cup was gently set on the floor beside her, her eyes gazing over everyone lost in their own little world or watching Malia and Lydia. No one was paying attention to her, at least she didn’t think they were until her eyes flickered over beside her, catching Liam’s attention solely on her, focused on her in a way that made her stomach flip. It wasn’t new, that feeling that had her cheeks heating up, at least not when it came to Liam. If anything, she expected it at this point.

His hand was on his knee, just resting there, his body more relaxed since they moved to the floor which she found intriguing, not that she would ask about it. Some people preferred sitting on the floor, what more was there behind it? She looked back into his eyes, the colour brighter than she thinks they’ve ever been, and maybe it was just because of the sunlight versus the fluorescent lights of school, but whatever it was, it made them truly mesmerizing. Distracting, even, in a way that almost had her forgetting what she was doing.

Corey and Mason forced her to watch a few romcoms during lunch, huddled around Mason’s laptop on the already crowded picnic table. She still didn’t fully understand what was so entertaining about them —excluding the reactions it drew from the couple— but she knew more about relationships, both platonic and romantic alike, to know that whatever it was about Liam that sparked those feelings inside her certainly weren’t the same ones that the rest of the group affected.

Maybe it was stupid, or corny as Mason had referred to things as quite often —usually right before doing the same thing because Corey frowned at his words— but she brought out her hand and rested it, palm up, in the rather small space between them. Liam didn’t miss it, couldn’t have with the way he was watching her every move, and his eyes locked on it before snapping back up to her, brows pulled together in confusion. He wasn’t weirded out, nor repulsed, just looked at her as if he expected a clueless response, something she didn’t give.

She eyes her hand, cocks her head toward it and wiggles her fingers, and yeah, she’ll admit it was pretty stupid, but then his eyes lit up even brighter because that was apparently possible. He moved, so slowly and hesitant, toward her hand until his hand hovered over hers, and she rolled her eyes, still smiling as she lifted to tangle their fingers together.

None of it felt particularly unpleasant. Her skin tingled at the touch, burned and not just from the warmth that radiated off of him. It wasn’t like all the other times someone had brushed against her skin, back when she still braved short sleeves and tank tops, and she couldn’t tell if it was simply her reacting to something new, or if it had to do with him. All she knew was that she didn’t want to pull away. She barely held back on the urge to move closer, and she wondered if this was what Mr Parker referred to when she started flinching at touch.

_“It’s not going to be pleasant when you feel touch again. You’re either going to be overwhelmed with all of it, or you’ll drown with the need for more.”_

He squeezed their hands gently, his eyes locked on them with something so peaceful as if he were fond of the little ridiculous action, and she could remember how often he joined in watching the movies with Corey and Mason, how he always got a little excited whenever something so small happened. “You’re such a hopeless romantic.” Mason had teased him, and when she looked up that word later she agreed. Maybe not to everything, but enough of it fit him that the term suited him quite well.

All of it was hard to take in, even if all it was had been her taking his hand in hers, and she could feel the way her breathing quickened, but she still held on. Liam glanced over at her, watching her curiously and she knew he saw something was wrong, but he didn’t make a move to pull away either. He moved so the two were sitting closer, their fingers still tangled, and she wasn’t sure what he was doing until she felt his arm brush against hers. Her sleeve shielded her from too much contact, but the arm felt warm against her slightly shivering body that she wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or everything around her.

Either way, she accepted his silent offer, leaning against it, slightly expecting it to be just like their hands —not unbearable, but new and overwhelming— but her body melted into him, her muscles finally able to relax, and she felt sore everywhere, not just her cheeks and stomach from too much smiling and laughing.

It was like a switch went off, something inside her that finally realized this was okay, that there wasn’t anything wrong with a little bit of vulnerability, and maybe Liam was the exception, but at some point, she rested her head on his shoulder, their hands still grasping each other tightly, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of her hand, the tingling sensation soothing her more than anything she’d tried in the past before she realized that being afraid was just her personality trait, not something that several different oils and pills could fix.

Despite her lack of sleep, Ronnie felt rather awake with her head resting on Liam’s shoulder, watching the group of friends interact with each other. They had rotated again, Mason now taking his turn attempting to walk in heels, doing a rather good job at it which led to Lydia complaining how he looked way too good in them, and Corey switched from wolf-whistling to hitting on him, depending on how Mason chose to strut by.

Scott was tidying up a bit, throwing away the empty plastic cups and napkins, and Kira pushed in a few chairs, mainly joining Stiles in teasing him for being such a mom. Malia watched with her feet propped up on a table, growling at Scott whenever he tried to coax her away from the table. They were planning on leaving soon —all of them still having things to do— and the day had slipped away rather quickly.

Stiles had been the one to announce that school was ending in an hour, deciding to celebrate with a happy dance. It startled Ronnie, awoke the thoughts that had been blissfully silent during the entire day, and the sharp reminder of what was to come soon. Ricardo was meant to pick her up and she wasn’t even there. Her body tensed up, her muscles screaming as she sat up, doing a rather decent job at ignoring the pain that pulsed with every move.

“You okay?” Liam asked, worry evident in his words and even more so in the way he watched her. She doubted he could see just how distressed she managed to get in a matter of seconds, not that she would have been too surprised if he had. He’d noticed plenty of other things before.

She nodded, a pitiful smile on her face that only made his brows furrow in disbelief. There was no point trying any harder to make him believe, so she took the phone that sat forgotten between the two for the past hour, typing quickly and handing it to him.

_Can I borrow your phone to text someone?_

“Yeah, no problem.” He still sounded cautious, as if he were waiting for her to break down or panic, but he handed the phone back.

He didn’t take his eyes off her while she grabbed her backpack and pulled it closer, leaning it against her, and pulled out the black notebook. She flipped through until she found the page Mr Márquez created, running her fingers over the indented word, the black ink slightly smeared by the left-handed man. Ricardo’s number had been added, something that he didn’t seem pleased about, but his wife insisted it was necessary so Mr Márquez carelessly scribbled it near the bottom of the page despite the plenty of space. After all, Ronnie never had a use for it before.

**< <<It’s Ronnie, I’m not at the school. Where do you want to meet? **

Liam never looked at the message, insisting that she hold on to the phone till she got a reply. She wasn’t sure what about it made her hurt, especially when he looked at her as if he cared, but she pulled together a smile, one hardly believable after all the grinning she had done that day. He squeezed her hand, bringing her attention to their hands and breathing out something close to a whimper when he released them. The warmth lingered, only the air bit at it now making the lack of touch quite clear, and she cursed herself for not memorizing the way it felt.

The phone vibrated on her lap. Her eyes hesitantly moved away from Liam as he started to help Scott wipe down the spilt fro-yo, down to the device on her thigh. She swallowed hard, reading over the new text. His words reached through the skin, hot breath against her ear and she wanted to run over to Liam, hide behind him like some stupid, scared, little girl.

**> >>Ditching school, lil’ sis? Didn’t know you had it in you. I have to admit, I’m impressed. **

She could hear that laugh, the one that made her cower away, could see his smile and dark eyes as he looked over her with amusement, maybe even impressed. Her skin screamed and she squirmed in her seat, catching the attention of Corey who didn’t hesitate to plop down beside her.

“You alright?” He was genuinely worried, he always was she learned, and she wanted to shake her head no. To tell them everything. 

Maybe if she told them they could help her. She had learned about a week ago that Stiles’s dad was the sheriff, that they were friends with a deputy. They could know what to do, how to keep anyone from getting hurt. Or something terrible could happen, all because she couldn’t listen when they told her not to say anything. If they got hurt it would be her fault, she didn’t doubt that. She had been told how to avoid any unnecessary violence, and if she chose to say something and they got hurt, or worse, because of it, that would be on her shoulders.

Another text came through, the vibrations eliciting a jump from her. She tried to calm down, at least control her breathing before the inevitable panic attack drew the attention of the rest of the group. It was no secret that she wasn’t the greatest liar when it came to her emotions, not when they were written all over her face for anyone to see, not when she couldn’t use her voice to sound convincing. Corey had already noticed something was wrong, Liam before that, and while the two sometimes didn’t push for her to explain, the same couldn’t be said for the others.

**> >>Where are you? **

To anyone who would look at this conversation, it would seem like an innocent question; the older foster brother asking for the address to pick up his foster sister, just like they had planned earlier that day. Maybe that really was all it was, maybe she was looking too far into it. That Ricardo may not pay much attention to her friends, that he’ll pull up and call for her to climb in, then they’ll drive off to wherever it is Mrs Márquez wants them to meet her.

Maybe she didn’t know Ricardo well enough to predict his behaviours or how true the things he says could be, but she saw the pictures, saw blood trailing down his hand, staining his clothes, the look in his eyes something she would never unsee. If those pictures portrayed anything similar to the man he is, she didn’t want to take a chance. She knew that the trembling of her gut was just as much of a warning as her words were. He held power over her, even from the safe amount of distance between the two. Even when he didn’t know where she was.

It silenced any thoughts about telling the others, about going to the police. There was nothing she could do. Nothing that wouldn’t get herself, or anyone she had stupidly gotten attached to. She closed her eyes, pretending for just one more moment that she was still safe before returning to reality, sending him the address of the fro-yo place, and moving away from the wall keeping her from tumbling to return the phone to Liam. He didn’t even need to say anything for her to know he was worried. The silent exchange between him and Corey was enough.

She didn’t want them to know, didn’t want any of them sticking around when Ricardo pulled up in fifteen minutes, but even when she tried to explain —something that proved difficult when surrounded by people equally as stubborn as herself— that she would be fine, that someone was coming to pick her up, they stayed. It caught her off guard, still trying to process why they would stay when there was no reason to.

They didn’t owe her anything, it was quite the opposite actually, and she wasn’t their responsibility, so why?

When the motorcycle pulled into the parking lot, the roar obnoxiously loud as he revved his engine, she felt instantly tense, the reaction practically instinctual by now. She hid it the best way she could, hiding her hands in her palm and putting on the act that she was just her normal fearful self. That the large black bike startled her, the noise and the idea of riding it. It wasn’t entirely false, believable even for her, and no one would know better.

Corey did. He didn’t believe it, not for a second, his eyes watching her with a slightly inclined brow. He may know her more than the others, have witnessed her in the midst of a fight against people twice her size without cowering once, but all those times were different. She had grown up with chaos and danger, never really feeling safe. This wasn’t just someone wanting to hurt herself, that she could deal with, had all her life.

Ricardo, the Márquez’s, they wanted to hurt people, _kill_ teenagers, kids no different from her newfound friends, and they could easily be on that list. She could deal with the threat lingering in the air, the one directed toward herself, and she knew Mr Parker wasn’t in any real danger —he’s dealt with worse if his stories were anything to go by. It was the thought of him and the couple that took her in laying a hand on anyone from the group that left her feeling terrified.

Her grip on the worn sleeves tightened, her blunt nails beginning to cut into her palms. She took a steadying breath, the attempt doing nothing to calm her, nor did trying and failing to return her focus to the group. They were all still lost in their own worlds, blissfully oblivious to the danger the man pulling into a parking spot brought. Oblivious to the panic that returned with force, a sharp but necessary reminder that bubbles pop.

Stiles glanced at her, his brows furrowed as if he understood what her heavy breathing meant, and after their talk in the library, she wondered if he did. He seemed to know more about fear than the others. His back was toward the threat, eyes focused on her as she pushed herself off the jeep they had returned to, pushing herself away from the illusion of safe and toward the reality.

He had already shut off the engine, glancing over at Ronnie with a look that said he knew of the fear pumping through her, that he _liked_ it, and was hopping off the bike with that menacing sneer —the one that made her sink back into herself, back to the jeep with a thud— that could be mistaken as an arrogant smirk. “Looks like you’ve made some friends, lil’ sis.” Ricardo’s voice sounded different as if he were on his best behaviour without those four walls at the Márquez’s to protect him.

Ronnie swallowed, shifting as the feeling of the group’s eyes shifting toward her, flickering between herself and the man who approached them. She knew she had to pretend they were friends, or family she supposed, but she could hardly move to put on the act. His sneer only grew, bordering grinning as he took her in, a satisfied expression flashing through his dark eyes. Her eyes widened as she took them in, just how dark they were, recognizing the expression from the photo.

Maybe she put on the act too quickly to seem normal. The way the mask slipped on, stepping into familiar territory with the mustered-up confidence she managed to find. Her heart was racing, the pace unnervingly faster than anything she was used to, but she pushed herself off the jeep without her knees shaking. She stepped away from the group, instinctively standing between them and Ricardo, her own eyes darkening laughably.

“You must be Ricardo.” Scott spoke up, his presence by her side oddly comforting. He had a similar stance like hers, only he hid it better, appearing more like the protective big brother than a threatened, fearful little girl.

The way Ricardo assessed him made her want to snap at all of them to leave. To push them all away before he could make any decision that could harm them. She wasn’t sure she could tense any more than in that moment, but she managed to do just that when his lips curled up, eyes flickering with amusement. “So, Ronda’s mentioned me?” He spoke.

She barely caught the way Scott’s hands clenched or how he took a step forward as if to protect her, she highly doubted it. “ _Ronnie_ told us her foster brother was coming to pick her up.” He didn’t sound like Scott, at least not like the kind boy who showed her around the school, who brought her into his friend group without so much as batting an eye, as if it were all just so easy for him to do. This Scott would have had her cowering away had she not known how gentle he was.

“That’s correct.” Ricardo hummed, his attention snapping to her. “We’ve got a dinner party tonight and mom was far too stressed with setting up that she couldn’t pick her up, so I offered.”

He was good, too good almost, enough that Ronnie would believe it too if it weren’t for the alarms ringing in her mind. She couldn’t stay, even if Scott turning to face her told her she most definitely could. There was something in his eyes, something that said he would be willing to fight if she chose not to leave with him, something that said he didn’t feel comfortable with her leaving. It happened again, that brief thought that maybe it would be okay if she spoke up, but it left as soon as Ricardo’s voice broke through.

“I didn’t catch your name.”

 _Fuck!_ Ronnie’s eyes widened, her heart rate increasing alarmingly fast, and as if Scott could hear it he turned to her, worry in his eyes. She couldn’t breathe, not when she finally registered the way Ricardo spoke. He knew something, something she didn’t want to know, and the conversation from nights ago rushed back with demanding need to be heard. _McCall_ , they had said. _Scott_ , her mind quickly shot back.

Scott slowly turned back to Ricardo, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. She wanted to grab his wrist, pull him back and push him toward the others, away from Ricardo and any possible danger he could be put in by one word, something as routine as giving his name. If she could, she would probably have made some noise similar to a cry or a whimper, maybe a combination of both, anything that would get him to see just how dangerous this situation was.

“Isaac.”

She stumbled back not bothering to think about how her own reaction should be masked, the overwhelming wave of fear and relief making her legs tremble and standing almost impossible. Corey was by her side almost instantly, standing close enough that she didn’t fall over, careful enough that to anyone else it was just a friend coming to stand beside her. It was painful to even think about analyzing that, or how Scott so easily lied without so much as an explanation as to why.

 _Maybe they’re a lot tougher than they look_ , an annoying voice hummed pleasantly. She wasn’t sure when she started to hate the sound of her own voice, only that the subtle accent made her cringe yet soothed her with the thought. They certainly aren’t like anyone she had ever met before.

Ricardo looked over him before nodding once. “Well, _Isaac_ ,” His eyes skimmed over the rest of the group, something Ronnie hadn’t worked up the courage to do yet, and the look only darkened when his attention locked on her. “I hate to break up this little party, but mom would _kill_ us if we’re late, isn’t that right, Ronda.”

Her strength returned slowly; the sensation similar to the way an arm slowly wakes up after being asleep. The way he worded things may not come off as alarming to anyone else, but the emphasis in those two words, “Isaac” and “kill” said enough. He didn’t believe Scott’s lie, not enough, and the reminder of his earlier threat was no longer solely directed on Ronnie and Mr Parker.

They were added to that list, every single one of them, and if the way he looked over them wasn’t unsettling enough then it was his tongue dragging over his lips as if he were looking at an all you can eat buffet. Only, instead of hunger in his eyes, it was lust, and not the kind she had witnessed enough times in hormonal teenagers. It was the kind she had only seen in his through a photo, and now right before her. He didn’t crave food or pleasure, but blood.

She pushed herself away from Corey just as quickly as she had done the jeep, only the jeep hadn’t reached out and caught her wrist. When she finally braved turning her chest tightened at the pure terror in his eyes. He wasn’t staring at her, but the man that brought the same fear to her. When he dragged his attention over to her it softened, gentle but pleading as if he wanted her to stay just as much as she did.

It tempted her far too much, especially when she let her peripheral vision bring the others into view. None of them looked pleasantly happy anymore, but angry and protective in a way that had her feeling warm. Stiles and Malia were glaring at Ricardo not too subtly, Liam and Mason were watching Ronnie and Corey with concern for both of them, Kira couldn’t decide whether to watch her boyfriend or the man they all seemed to be ready to fight, and then Lydia whose eyes had glazed over, staring off into the distance.

Ronnie couldn’t stay, even if she wanted to, so with the bit of strength she had called on only moments before, she tugged out of Corey’s hold. She walked over to Ricardo’s bike, hoping that he got the message and breathing easier when he came over. He pulled out the helmet he never wore and plopping it on her head with a victorious smile. “Aren’t you going to bid farewell to your friends?”

Something inside her snapped. Maybe it was the illusion that still lingered in the air that told her she wasn’t away from the safety quite yet, or it was the fearless behaviour the group had shown that had rubbed off on her, but her brows came down, eyes narrowing in a glare. She wasn’t afraid, not at that moment and certainly not when she could still feel the others nearby, their eyes watching their every move. Not even when he smirked, pleased by her reaction just like he was whenever she shook with fear.

* * *

Corey watched as they drove away, his teeth digging painfully further into his lip, the blood evident on his tongue but he was unbothered by the taste. He could feel the unease shifting in the pack, the way everyone reacted to their alpha who had so quickly taken up the protective stance, but he was already gone by that point. While the others were starting to realize something wasn’t right, he already knew.

The moment that man got off the bike, Corey knew, and he wasn’t sure how he didn’t cower away the same way his friend had, the same way Ronnie did every time he looked her way or spoke. He barely registered Mason beside him, or Liam who quickly joined once he got a whiff of the fear coming from him and worry from his boyfriend. Mason tried to pull him back, to stand by them away from what their alpha and Stiles had sensed as a potential threat, but Corey jumped over to Ronnie before he could stop himself.

He clenched his fist by his side once she was out of view, envious of the werewolf strength his friends had. Maybe then he could have stopped her from getting on with that man, and he shivered at the thought. Would he hurt her? Was that why she looked so afraid of him? Had he already done something to her? His thoughts only grew louder, running faster with each new “what if” and “maybe”.

“Ronnie isn’t a threat.” He said as soon as he felt Mason’s hand on his shoulder. It grounded him, but not enough that the terror inside settled.

Scott’s voice sounded further away, though Corey knew he was only a few feet behind, likely by his motorcycle or Stiles’s jeep. “We don’t think she is either.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, not when he couldn’t figure out how to get the words bouncing in his head to come out of his mouth. He heard Malia’s voice, not what she said just the warmth in her tone, and he figured she was talking to Stiles or Liam, the only two she ever used that tone with. “No!” Corey moved, he wasn’t sure how, but he did, spinning on his heels to face the others.

They all stared at him with wide eyes, excluding Mason and Liam who were rather used to him speaking at this point. The rest of the pack rarely heard it, always seeming so surprised whenever he opened his mouth. He didn’t have the energy nor patience to care right then and there. His eyes snapped between Mason and Liam, begging for one of them to read his mind, groaning when he heard Mason quietly saying his name, clear concern in his tone.

“You aren’t listening.” He sighed and locked his eyes on Liam. The beta and he may not always get along, especially at the beginning, but there was no doubt in Corey’s mind that if anyone would, he would understand. “We’re worrying about her becoming a hunter or working with them but we’re wrong.”

“Babe,” Mason took his hand so gently, rubbing soothing circles on his skin but not even that could calm the panic that finally started to consume him. “What’s going on?”

“Corey,” Scott stepped toward them, cautious but still on edge from when that man was there, standing in front of all of them with a smile yet somehow setting off every alarm in the pack, especially their alpha. “Do you know something?”

He nodded slowly, almost too slowly for anyone to notice, and he heard a sharp inhale from his boyfriend. Mason knew, and when he looked over at Liam it was clear he caught on. “That was the man,” —Liam spoke low, threateningly, his eyes narrowing and fists clenching— “wasn’t it.”

“The man from the woods?” Malia asked and the others tensed, everyone except Lydia who seemed to stumble backwards.

Scott and Stiles exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between the two, one that no one outside of Lydia was ever able to understand but she was paying no attention, something that worried Corey enough to distract him. He returned when he heard Scott’s voice. “Do you know if he recognized you?” Corey didn’t and that suddenly made him uneasy, he hadn’t even been thinking about that. All of his attention had been on trying to keep Ronnie from going anywhere near him. “Was it even light enough for him to see you?”

“I don’t know!” Corey snapped, throwing one arm in the air, the other still in a vice grip as his boyfriend stared at him with worried eyes. “All I know is that was the same sinister smile that I saw that night, and Ronnie got on the back of his bike!”

“She was terrified.” Scott muttered, probably to himself but he never tried to hide his thoughts from the pack, not even now. The others all stared at him, Liam especially and Mason seemed to finally realize his best friend was teetering between control and feral, the latter weighing heavily. “The moment he pulled up, but it was even worse when he asked for my name. It was like she was on the verge of a panic attack.”

“That was why you lied.” Stiles said gaining a nod from his best friend. “She stepped between us.” He looked toward the others with an expression Corey recognized well; he wanted to know if anyone noticed. “When he got here, she jumped between us just like Scott, only hers was subtle as if she wasn’t trying to seem threatening or protective, just cautious.”

Lydia screamed, the shrill terror in her voice snapping everyone’s attention toward her. She stumbled backwards, caught by Liam who managed to rush to her side since he was closer. Her hand was shaking when she brought it to her lips, a sob muffled behind it that had everyone tensing.

“Are you okay?” Liam asked slowly, shifting so Scott could take her but staying nearby, just as alert as the others. He looked up at his alpha with wide eyes so clearly overwhelmed by everything that had been going on. Corey squeezed his boyfriend’s hand before nodding toward him, a silent confirmation that it was okay. Mason looked sorry but he didn’t hesitate to run over to Liam, Corey not far behind.

Everyone gathered around her, a combination of worry and hesitance, only Scott and Stiles comfortable being so close, the two of them helping her gain her bearings. She was still shaking, her eyes darting, taking in their surroundings as if they were changing, possibly spinning. Corey sucked in a breath as it hit him; she had a premonition.

“Brett was right.” She finally said, her voice shaky and fragile, something that made Corey flinch. Lydia had never given off the appearance of anything than confident and smart, and seeing something different did little to soothe the panic in him. “We’re all going to die, everyone.” Her arms wrapped around herself, leaning into Scott’s hold as she said in such a broken voice, “Everyone is going to die… and Ronnie…” —She shivered— “She’s in the middle of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Language, anxiety


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings on specific chapters

Lydia’s vision was blurred, spots creeping in from all corners, crowding her and blocking any attempts to take in her surroundings. She knew she wasn’t standing in the parking lot anymore, unable to feel the warmth from the sun or comfort of the pack, hadn’t been since that man stepped off his motorcycle. The man had trigged something, the feeling not too different from the ones she got during a premonition, only this felt different, more real.

A shiver ran down her spine, whether it from the room itself or the biting wind she couldn’t tell. She wrapped her arms around herself, either way, her bare arms covered in goosebumps, but she continued to study her surroundings, looking for anything distinct that could help her find it in the future if need be.

The little bit that she could focus on was dark, not even moonlight creeping in through, the dim colours and lack of light giving the effect of a 1900 horror film. There was a loud howl of wind that brushed against her, whistling through the broken window behind her. She studied the design of the stained glass and sad cracks, hopefully, enough to commit to memory and use once she returned from wherever her mind had sent her. It was up high, slightly above the balcony that peered into the room, stretched back in further toward the dark, only a red light in the corner shining through.

There were a few stains that caught her attention, nothing noticeably strange about them other than the colours, some varying from a dark shade and others almost yellow. It wasn’t wear and tear, not on a metal flooring already covered in rust or a room growing mould and other mystery plants. The room may have been old and poorly taken care of, but the discolourations on the floor weren’t from that, she was positive.

She braved a step forward, kneeling near the largest stain to get a better look, choking back a sob once she registered it; blood and wolfsbane. Her hand shot up, covering her mouth in case some noise managed to escape, stumbling onto her feet and backwards. The stains drew all of her attention, calling to be noticed, and she trembled when she spotted a fairly fresh puddle of the mixture like a beacon demanding her attention.

It was recent, the blood still warm and the wolfsbane toxins hovering in the air, strong enough that she felt a burning in her lungs. Her eyes widened a fraction, her mind and body on high alert. That wasn’t normal. In fact, Lydia was never affected by the poison before, not in anyways the pack had, and certainly not due to a smell. Wolfsbane she knew smelt sweet, like a candied floral, not the chemical scent filling her lungs. She frowned, eyes locked on the stains once more, and she slowly took a step back.

Wolfsbane doesn’t stain.

Her head started to ache, softly at first, something she would have been able to deal with had it not grown. It grew into a pounding migraine, in synch with a rhythmic sound that started to bounce off the walls, ringing in her ears. The wind grew louder, the noise only inflicting more pain, enough to send her bending over with her palms pressed firmly against her temples, a whimper lost into the noise that started to fill the room.

The cold nipped at her skin adding to the agonizing pain and her legs wobbled, threatening to give up and leave her tumbling to the ground. She didn’t fight it, and when it happened she just fell to the floor, a blood-curdling scream filling the air, a beg for it all to stop, to make the pain go away. It was all too much, her senses overwhelmed but she couldn’t get out. Something trapped her inside her own head, forced her to stay, to get the answers even if it killed her to do so.

There was another presence, one she hardly noticed with everything going on, but the slight movement in front of her wasn’t easy to miss, not even with the throbbing in her head. She tried to focus, she really did, but every time she thought about moving the pain would grow until another scream burst through the air, vibrating off the walls and bouncing back, adding to everything that had her on her knees.

All at once, it stopped. The world froze, the noises silenced —other than the slight ringing in her ears— even the howling wind was gone. Her skin felt warm, not like she was back in the parking lot under the sun’s rays, but almost feverish. She moved slowly, testing the waters to see just how achy she felt, but even the pain was gone. There was a phantom chill that lingered in the air, one she recognized well from her past premonitions, but this certainly wasn’t like those.

_Something was fighting back_ , she realized. She rose to her feet, struggling to balance in heels with her shaky legs. The presence in the room was nowhere to be seen, but their eyes were on her, she could feel them watching her as she searched the room. They hid well, not that it would have been hard to do in the dark room, but her focus on finding this other presence was quickly diverted.

“Scott!”

She ran forward before she could stop herself before she could remember that this wasn’t real. He wasn’t dead, this was just a warning of what could happen. Scott isn’t dead. Her hands still shook as she cupped his face, turning to see the slight in his throat, his veins a terrifying shade of yellow. There wasn’t any sign of fear or pain in his eyes, more guilt than anything else and Lydia felt a sob bubbling in her throat.

A scream tore through the stillness, ripping her away from her spiralling. He isn’t dead, he isn’t dead, he isn’t dead. She tried to move her hands away, but she couldn’t, not when she could hardly look away from his lifeless eyes or slightly agape mouth. The scream came again, louder this time as if it were coming from that very room.

It should have been comforting that she didn’t recognize the scream, but instead, it made her blood run cold. She had never heard it before yet still her mind pinned a face to the noise. _Ronnie_. Her eyes shot around the room, slowly letting herself leave Scott’s side, repeating the same three words in her head as she tried to look around.

“Lydia!” She spun around too fast, her heart dropping as she spotted Liam, tears starting to dry on his cheek, blood staining his hands and clothes. “You’re alive.” He breathed out and the absolute relief in his voice broke her.

“What happened? Are you okay? Where are the others?” Lydia couldn’t breathe. He looked terrible, his skin covered in oozing cuts and gnarly bruises. She didn’t even want to think why he wasn’t healing, just forced herself to leave Scott, rushing over to Liam. His injuries weren’t life-threatening, nothing that she had to fuss over, not yet at least, but she still looked over him, moving his blood-stained clothes to ensure none of it was hiding some gash. It wasn’t his blood but the lack of light in his electric blue eyes almost fooled her.

He wrapped his arms around her, his body shaking as he released a single sob. She didn’t waste any time, pulling him as close as she could, cradling his head against her shoulder, hoping that it could give him some sense of safety or comfort. Her eyes instinctively looked around, watching for any potential threat when the beta was vulnerable, and she almost cried out when she was able to see the rest of the room.

Malia and Kira were closest to each other, the sword still clutched in Kira’s hand, the two drenched in blood. _Their blood_. Stiles wasn’t far either, his skin littered with cuts and bruises just like Liam only his was far worse; deeper and fatal. His eyes weren’t open, not like the others, but there were still tears on his cheek. She shivered to think he may have watched all of this happen, that any of them had to see their friends, their _family_ die.

_Liam!_ “Hey,” She found enough strength to loosen her grip, eyeing over him. “I need you to tell me what happened.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head as if relieving it would leave him with the same fate. “Liam, please! If you tell me I might be able to stop this. I can stop all of this, but you _have_ to tell me.”

She shouldn’t have been able to talk to him, couldn’t think of any time in the past where she had been able to. This wasn’t just some premonition, it felt _real_ and not in the ways she was used to. It felt as if this had just happened. Her muscles were sore enough that she could easily believe she had just been in a fight, and when she finally looked at her clothes she noticed injuries that weren’t there before, blood staining her clothes and skin. It was all too much, too believable.

“He killed her… He killed all of them.” He chocked on a sob, his hands reaching over to hold on to Lydia as if she were the only thing keeping him from shattering. She held on too, grasping on his shoulders and holding him close enough that she could do something if any threat were to arise. “I thought you were dead too, he said you were—”

“I’m okay Liam, I’m alive.” She brushed a tear off his cheek not even sure if he could feel it; he gave no indication that he did. “You said _he_.” Her breathing quickened. “Liam, you said he. Please tell me you know who _he_ is.” His eyes clenched shut, tears still spilling through faster as he shook his head. “Please, Liam, I need your help.”

He sucked in a breath, opening his eyes to look up at her, his voice barely above a whisper. “Ricardo,” His voice shook as he spoke, but he pressed on. “Ricardo Ximenis.”

_Ximenis._ “He’s dead,” Lydia said slowly, studying Liam’s expression. He wasn’t lying, he was positive this was the man, but that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. “Liam, Ricardo Ximenis died when he was seventeen. There was a fire, he didn’t come out in time.” _A warehouse fire_ , she shuttered, taking a step away from Liam as she looked around. “A warehouse…” She breathed out.

“Do you think he faked his death?” Liam asked, his voice so fragile and quiet. She moved back toward him, her hand returning to his shoulder, holding it as if she could keep him together with that little touch.

“I think he isn’t the only one.” She told him carefully. “The warehouse fire, the one that killed him… Sheriff Stilinski never found out the cause of it. It’s one of his unfinished cases that he returned to after finding out about the supernatural.” He looked confused so she took a breath, backtracking a bit. “When I was looking to see who might fit the criteria of the rogue hunters I looked into the case because it seemed… off.

“He wasn’t the only one in that fire. There were employees, families. They were all gathered for a dinner party to celebrate some promotion. Everyone else got out except for Ricardo and his foster family, a couple… Marcella and Alvaro.”

“Ronnie’s foster parents?” Liam said.

“Wait… you know who her foster parents are?” He nodded. “You told me you only knew her address.”

Liam tilted his head. “I did, but then you looked into it and got a name, remember? You realized her foster parents were believed dead until a year ago, around the same time Ricardo appeared again, and the killings started not long after that. Scott and Stiles went with you to her house… Lydia, do you not remember any of this?”

She tried; she really did but couldn’t. _Because this isn’t real_ , a voice provided. “Liam, I need you to tell me something.” He nodded, a worried look in his eyes that overpowered the earlier pain and hollowness in them. “What day is it?”

His brows furrowed, the question catching him off guard, but he answered. “The 7th of May.”

“May.” —she breathed a little easier— “This happens in less than two months.”

“Lydia, what’s going on?”

He sounded scared, desperate, and in pain. She tried not to get lost, refused to believe that any of this was any reality. This wouldn’t happen, she wouldn’t let it. “We’re going to be okay.” She promised, looking him in the eyes as she spoke with determination. He didn’t believe her, not that she blamed him, but he nodded regardless. “I’m not going to let anything happen, I promise.” The world shifted, reality and the premonition fusing, and Lydia pulled Liam into one final hug, holding him tighter as everything started to fade away.

* * *

Ronnie wrapped her arms tightly around herself, something she had done for as long as she could remember, claiming she was protecting herself from the chilled air that nipped at her bare skin. It wasn’t entirely a lie either, she had never been a fan of the cold, not when it was a daily occurrence, even in the summertime. She preferred to be bundled beneath blankets or sitting by a fire, anything that didn’t leave her fingers numb or shivering from a cause other than fear. The self-embrace didn’t sound as vulnerable if she blamed it on the cold and not the need for comfort.

She needed comfort then, standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the destination with wide eyes. Every alarm was blaring in her mind, screaming for her to get as far away from everything as possible. A familiar sense of unease rammed into her, one she knew too well, engrained into her mind with no memory as to why, something she was too young to remember or long forgotten. Her arms only tightened more around herself just in time for an unforgiving breeze to send a shiver creeping up her spine.

The building was every definition of sketchy, from the lack of lighting to the woods that surrounded it for miles, the closest establishment being a rundown gas station about ten minutes away. Ivy had started to grow up the walls, spilling out from cracks and gaps where drywall and concrete were crumbling away. Trailing along the walls and stretching out to the parking lot and surrounding grounds were what appears to scorch marks, the dark colour mixed with a slight tint of crimson. It all sent shivers down her spine in more ways than one, none being remotely pleasant.

_“No one comes here,”_ Ricardo had felt was necessary to say once they pulled into an empty parking spot beside the familiar silver Tesla and the engine was shut off. She practically threw her arms off of him, scrambling to get off the motorcycle and put distance between them. He just smirked, glancing over his shoulder to watch as she stumbled onto the sidewalk. _“Not even the police.”_ He drawled on. _“As far as their aware, this place was bulldozed years ago.”_

Inside certainly was no better. Everything was stained with that same crimson tint, some mixed with a strange yellow stain, and the scorch marks were far worse, rather telling as to why the building was abandoned: a fire. At the end of the main room was one window, the only one in the entire building. It was fairly large, taking up most of the wall, the stained glass shattered, the once beautiful image nothing more than faded colours and half of a beast, the eyes red. The orange light from the sunset peered through giving off an eerie vibe and making the beast’s eyes glow, the least unnerving thing in the building.

This was hardly the first abandoned building she had been in, nor the first one to leave her feeling so unsettled, but this one had her skin crawling and not just with the familiar spike of fear that she had grown accustomed to. There was something… off, and more than just being in a creepy building, joined by rich families dressed in silk gowns and suits that could pay for college. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was, just followed Ricardo, every sense heightened as if she were preparing for a fight, her eyes darting around the room at the cheery faces.

“Ricardo!” Mrs Márquez’s voice flooded through the room, louder than the whispers from the gossiping families. “Ronda! You two finally made it.” She pecked Ricardo’s cheek in greeting before turning to Ronnie and cupping her cheek, rubbing her thumb across it, giving it a gentle pat. “We were just about to get started but I managed to convince them to hold off just a little longer, in the spirit of our new recruit.”

There was an overly excited grin tugging at her wine-stained lips, a slight drunken blush already warming her cheeks. Ronnie took a chance to look around the room, noticing almost every gloved hand wrapped around a glass of either wine or champagne. A few women were watching, judging looks in their haunting eyes, a few men looking amused at the exchange, some people even looking her over as if she were something they planned on buying.

It was almost enough to have her wanting to step closer to Mrs Márquez and Ricardo, but she shivered at the thought of being any closer to them than necessary. She swallowed back her unease, focusing more on breathing since she had been holding her breath since stepping into the building. They couldn’t know she was afraid, couldn’t know that the thought of hurting some teenager because they believed they weren’t human-made her alarmingly nauseous. This was just something she had to do, blend in with the crowd, at least until she could get away safely.

_This is how you survive_ , she tried telling herself. It wasn’t very reassuring or doing much to ease her growing fear, but it gave her enough strength to hide it, hold it at bay until she was alone where it was safe. She pulled on a smile, one that was far more believable especially after the joy-filled day she had.

The expression fooled Mrs Márquez easily in her tipsy state, smiling fondly in return. “This isn’t your initiation,” She assured, and Ronnie masked her flinch as a shiver, rubbing her hands over her arms. “That’ll come later. For now, we just want to ease you into this. Start small, build to the fun stuff.”

She nodded, fighting against the growing urge to bend over and hurl, barely succeeding in swallowing back the bile. “That’s a real shame.” Ricardo hummed beside her, not as fooled by her act but enjoying it far too much. His eyes were already dark with bloodlust. “I was looking forward to seeing our sweet, lil’ Ronda, prove to us she has what it takes.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Mrs Márquez chuckled, swatting his arm. “When the time comes, I do not doubt that Ronda will be ready. Won’t you dear?”

_Ready for what?_ She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know, but something inside her lurched, her heart beating faster with each forced breath that was becoming far more difficult to keep steady. They had briefly gone over it with her, covering the guidelines and demands, how it would all go down, but that was the jiff of it.

It was enough to make her stomach churn but not enough that she could imagine the whole ordeal, only picturing it as a sort of distant nightmare, one where she is the shadow in the dark, her hand gripped tightly around the blade, blood dripping from it, that same lustful look Ricardo gets in his eyes mirrored in her own. She wondered who it would be, what eyes would be staring blankly back at her, the light snuffed out, heart no longer beating.

Would it be one of her friends, or maybe a student she sits behind in Algebra? How would their families react? Who would miss them? Certainly, they had friends, a life outside of just being a supposed monster. Would the parents bury an empty casket, or would it be one of those runaway teen incidents where the family never knows what happened to their kid? What if no one thinks twice about it? That would be great for the Márquez’s and their psychotic rich friends, but what about their loved one? Surely they had a right to know, didn’t they?

_Will I be able to go through with it?_ She held herself tighter, afraid that if she loosened her grip even just in the slightest than the dark, lustful eyes that surrounded her would see straight through her poor act. They would know her doubt, her fear, would see that she desperately wanted to put distance between herself and every single one of them. Ricardo wasn’t the only one capable of hurting people —of hurting her— they all were more than capable of violence. That much had been made quite clear in the photos Mrs Márquez showed with pride.

What would Mr Parker say if he knew of the things going on? If he knew of the people she was staying with. Would he do anything? This would be the perfect opportunity for him to get rid of her, to never have to deal with the problem girl again. She couldn’t blame him if he sat back and watched, let them do whatever it was they wanted.

He wasn’t a malicious man, and while he had a dark past none of that shined through in his character now, not as long as she had known him. Maybe he would help her, find a way to alert the police, get her as far away from them as he could. She knew he didn’t care about her; social workers couldn’t get attached to the children in their care, he reminded her of that frequently, but she was still his responsibility. There were still laws he had to follow in order to protect her, and other children, from people like the Márquez’s.

Ricardo’s voice startled her out of her spiralling mind, his curled lips almost making her wish she could disappear back to her thoughts, away from him. “Remind me to speak with you about a certain…” —He’s eyes ran over her, licking his lips before turning his focus to Mrs Márquez— “ _matter_ that needs attention.” She nodded enthusiastically. “Try not to have too much fun, lil’ sis.”

His calloused fingers scratched against her cheek as he pushed away the few short strands of her that fell into her eyes. Ronnie tried not to cower away from his touch, something that proved impossibly difficult when he sneered. “Or, if you insist, you could always get a little _crazy_ tonight, show us your true colours.”

“Just be smart about it.” Mrs Márquez pitched in. Ronnie didn’t bother acknowledging her, her eyes locked on Ricardo. It wasn’t often she got a sudden boost of confidence, but with his eyes on her, amused by the fear pumping through her, she found it quite easy to narrow her eyes in a not-so-subtle glare. “Don’t feel obligated to attend school tomorrow, if you don’t want to, but still try to be responsible.” The woman blabbered on, oblivious to everything it seemed. “We can’t have anyone poking around here, now can we?”

Ronnie shook her head, finally allowing herself to swat Ricardo’s hand away, taking a large step back. She mentally gagged when he sent her an all too pleased smile, his fingers curling into a fist that wasn’t from anger, though she couldn’t read what it was before they disappeared into his pockets. “Isn’t that a good girl.” He hummed. “Looks like you’re a rather quick learner. Keep it that way.”

Mrs Márquez smiled fondly at the two, nodding along to whatever it was Ricardo had said to her. “—help… set up.” Ronnie vaguely heard, not paying too much attention to what came out of his mouth, just a way to put more distance between them. She dropped her hands to her side, forcing herself to give off the appearance of relaxed, not that it was entirely easy to do, especially when Mrs Márquez wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“You two seem to be getting along.” She said, her attention everywhere around the room so Ronnie didn’t bother reacting. “I have an outfit for you, nothing quite as extravagant as the dress we bought you, but I think it will do nicely for your first time.” Ronnie tried not to tense beneath the woman’s arm, hardly breathing easier when she started to pull them along to another room away from the growing, anxious crowd. “Ricardo helped pick it out, he thought you might like the colour.”

The room wasn’t nearly as dim but not bright either, the only light in the room the flickering bulb in a rusty table lamp. Ronnie couldn’t see much other than a desk, the room seemed to be some kind of office or study with a bookshelf near the door and dark wood flooring. Her gaze followed where Mrs Márquez disappeared to, startled when she emerged from the dark with a plastic bag, a fancy dress held by a hanger and shimmering even in the dim light.

She didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around herself once more, a sharp pinch of fear… no, stronger than fear, shot through her. Her fingers ran over the plastic covering, eyes locked on the dress with a look that Mrs Márquez took as pleased, complementing the style of design, praising Ricardo and his good taste. It would be gorgeous to some, the lace halter neck and familiar flowy skirt that had become a theme with the dresses the Márquez’s insisted she wore.

None of that was hardly what caught her attention. The man knew what he was doing, not in the dress department, but with his choice, Ronnie had to give him that much. She pulled her hand away, holding her wrist as if she had been burned, and in some ways, she felt as if she had. Her heart was racing, threatening to burst out of her chest, and she forgot how to breathe.

Everything was too focused on the dress, specifically, the colour, one that she recognized all too well, had found herself getting lost staring into that very colour. It terrified her to think how difficult it was to find such a specific shade, terrified her to think of Ricardo going through the store searching for that specific colour, but mainly it was how he knew. As far as she was aware, he had never seen her with her newfound friends until today, yet the piercing blue dress told a different story.

“Oh, it looks like he left you a note.” Mrs Márquez pulled it off the string and handed it to her, Ronnie barely able to take it without revealing her shaking hands. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

She didn’t pay attention to the closing door or the way the click echoed in the room, just fought with the envelope, and pulled the flimsy card out, her hands shaking rather violently making it almost impossible for her to read the calligraphy written words inside.

_Beautiful dress, wouldn’t you say. The colour reminded me of someone but I can’t place who, maybe you can help. Put the dress on and we’ll have our answer. Don’t and I believe you know what will happen. - Ricardo Ximenis_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence, major/minor character death,


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings on specific chapters

Ronnie doesn’t have many memories of when she was younger. Most of it she assumed was due to just how young she was when she joined the system, how most things became more of a blur, jumping from house to house, never staying in a place long enough to have any memories worth looking back on.

There were a few things that were fairly clear, like her first day of second grade, the first time a teacher looked at her with a raised brow, hesitant of the supposed troubled child. Some of first and kindergarten, though most of those years were blurry as if her mind had chosen to take out bits and pieces to protect her from something far worse. She had never bothered questioning it, just trusted her subconscious and moved on, desperately trying to ignore the pain that shot through her each time.

She didn’t _want_ to know what went on when she was younger. There were enough pitiful glances thrown her way now that she was older and knew how to hide what she was, but when she was a small, frail girl looking at everything with such hope and wonder, she could only imagine how people viewed her. Then there were the thoughts formed by her naïve mind before the world proved just how sinister it was and the questions she might have voiced, though the latter was highly unlikely.

One memory —she couldn’t have been more than five, possibly even four— she spoke with such confidence it made her chest tighten. Even when she was younger, talking wasn’t something she did, too ashamed by her own voice and failure to pronounce her own name, but in that memory, there wasn’t a hint of hesitance in her tone. She held her head high, looking up at the green-eyed boy who smiled so fondly when she managed to say “Ronnie” without the unwanted “w” she always slurred.

He hugged her, his body twice her size though he was only a few years older than her, his embrace something she didn’t even flinch by. She threw her arms around his neck and nuzzled into him, melting into the comfort and safety that radiated from him. The boy had no name in her memories, only a kind chubby face and warm eyes that liked to revisit her whenever she felt lonely, his voice soothing her worries and calming her nerves.

That was a long time ago, back when she didn’t know just how temporary everything was, how one day she would be sent away to a new place. She would allow herself to get comfortable, fall for the facade that people might actually care about her, only for reality to hurl back into place, and the cycle would repeat. There were only two memories with that boy, the one where he decided to try pronouncing her name differently after realizing she couldn’t figure out how to make the “d” sound. The other was far too dark, too confusing, that she always tended to ignore it.

Most memories she left alone, kept them tucked away in a box hidden deep within her mind, never wanting to revisit anything, nothing worth revisiting. She knew her younger self had quite the different view on the world, saw things from a cheery perspective, something that —as she got older— she envied. There was far too much innocence surrounding her younger self, oblivious to the aches and pains that would crash into her far too soon, only ever pondering over one thought, one that she never wanted to hear an answer for: _where are my parents?_

Her mind refused to stop wandering, not even when she had stepped out of the small, dark room, the cold air brushing against her bare arms and calves, the dress doing little to block out the chill. She wrapped her arms protectively around herself, manoeuvring through the crowd still too lost in her thoughts to realize there was more going on. They were riled up, that much she could tell, from the way they jumped and shouted to their fists pumping in the air. It was a bit comedic out of context, something she would gladly keep that way.

It was all a bit too familiar, awakening memories kept locked away, releasing them to twirl and dance around in her mind. She hated those, the ones that were clear yet foggy, the ones that had her questioning so much, too much, but coming back with no answers. Yet, while there were so many parts that left her feeling empty, as if she were meant to feel something but there was nothing there, she could recall it all so easily as if she were reliving all of it.

There had been terrible gusts of wind, something rather common in that part of California, sending uncomfortable chills up her back. She wasn’t wearing hardly enough layers for that cold winter’s day, just a thin long sleeve that was far too small for her, even at four, almost five years old. Mr Parker had kindly draped his blazer over her shoulders, making the small girl disappear beneath it, and while it was hardly the warmest thing she buried herself inside, nuzzling into the scratchy fabric.

The dim room full of rowdy people reminded her so much of that day, the one she must have meant to feel something over but looks back on it now with a grimace and smile. She had met Mr Parker that day, the man towering over her, his expressionless face something she should have found unsettling, but it was nothing new to her. He was meant to chaperone her, a social worker looking after a child who happened to be attending the same service as he, unknowing that she would end up his responsibility.

She still knew nothing as to why she had been attending the funeral of a man she never met, at least one she couldn’t remember meeting. He might have been her foster parent, another one of the many she hardly remembered much of, but she never bothered questioning it too much. Not the _why_ she had been there, at least, but more so the reactions and behaviours of those who went.

It was this detail that tied in too nicely to the way the crowd in the warehouse were acting, the rowdy behaviour and burning hatred in their eyes. She had attended enough services in her life to know most people grieved, but for this man, they cheered over the deceased and heckled all who knew him.

“Good riddance!” she would hear them scream. “Monster!” would come another. Their voices were raw, seething with a fury that made her shiver far worse than the wind that gnawed at her bones. Her frail body shook violently with a —now, all too familiar— mix of numbing cold and bitter terror.

This crowd gathering in the warehouse acted no better than those in the field all those years ago, only no deputies were standing between those who mourned and those who sought violence. They hardly bothered hiding the want in their eyes, didn’t hide the pure hate seething from their voices. Their focus was entirely on a makeshift stage near the end of the room, no one paying mind as Ronnie pushed through the crowd toward the back, too afraid to be surrounded by these folk but all too aware of what would happen if she were to leave.

Ricardo stepped onto the stage, the light peering through the stained-glass window acting as a spotlight. He searched the crowd, a pleased smile making way to his face when he spotted her off in the dark, the blue dress making it impossible to disappear. She stood out in the angry mob, small and afraid, wearing bright colours and gems while the rest wore darker tones, no ounce of light shining in their eyes. It would be impossible to become invisible in this crowd, something she learned as soon as she put on the dress, and she understood now that was the point.

He tapped the microphone, his eyes never moving from her as he gathered the crowd’s attention. It wasn’t a difficult task, the moment his presence was known the warehouse fell silent, their heads snapping toward where he stood. They all looked crazed, their eyes wide and mouths agape, looking at Ricardo as if he would be providing their first meal in over a month.

“I think we should skip the formalities today, don’t you?” His voice echoed in the warehouse, drowned out by the cheers from the rowdy crowd. All he had to do was lift his hand and they fell silent instantly. “We came to Beacon Hills for one thing and one thing only.” He smirked, his dark eyes sending chills down Ronnie’s back, but she couldn’t find the strength to look away, paralyzed by the sinister that filled them. “To kill ourselves a true alpha.”

They cheered once more and again were silenced by Ricardo who clearly enjoyed the power he held over the group. “Every day we’ve gotten closer to finding this pack, and every day we’ve managed to take someone out. This town… it’s, _special_. It’s special in a way we’ve never had the privilege of cleansing. And soon, very soon, we’ll have ourselves the head of a true alpha and we’ll put it on a pike for the whole world to see.”

Ronnie slapped her hand over her mouth, her other one clutching her stomach as she watched with wide, horror-filled eyes. From the dark a boy emerged, joining Ricardo on the stage. He was young, maybe a year or two older than Ronnie, and hardly what caused her attention to drift. Being dragged behind him was a man, his skin deathly pale and veins a sickening shade of yellow and blue.

She watched as the boy pulled him onto his feet, the man was far too weak to do much of anything but let his body sag, hardly capable of holding up his head let alone standing. The crowd hadn’t bothered to glance at the boy as Ricardo continued to speak, his voice fading away into the background as Ronnie witnessed the boy take wire dripping with something she could only assume wasn’t good, and wrap it around the man’s wrists, the thin metal digging into the man’s skin though he hardly reacted.

He didn’t fight as the boy lifted his arms above his head, hooking him up to a pole as if he were bait on a fishing line. Ronnie thought seeing the photos would have helped soften the blow, but there was nothing that could have prepared her for this. She couldn’t move, wasn’t breathing, and somehow hadn’t thrown up yet. The man looked far worse than when he was being dragged, and now that his body was on full display she could see just how awful he looked.

There were slashes cut so deep she could see bone littering his body, mainly on his chest but some on his arms and thighs. He struggled to breathe, his chest shaking with every inhale and exhale. No matter how the boy manoeuvred him, displaying his body to give a better view of the damage done, the man hung his head as if in shame, hair falling in front of his eyes and hiding his face.

The crowd seemed rather numb to the scene, or perhaps they truly were far too consumed by whatever speech Ricardo was delivering to see the barbaric act behind him, but Ronnie couldn’t tear her eyes away. She wanted nothing more than to avert her gaze, but at the sight of blood dripping down his side, she found it impossible to look anywhere else. A fearful scream bubbled in her throat, instinctively closing in on itself at the threat of noise attempting an escape.

“We’ve all heard of the gratifying _misfortune_ that became of the Hale House,” —Ricardo moved away from the podium, approaching the man, and running his fingers over a healing gash— “and recently I caught rumour of a certain Hale wolf roaming about.” His lips curled in a sneer as he grabbed hold of the man’s jaw, lifting his head so everyone could see his eyes.

Ronnie didn’t mean to stumble back, a breath of air knocked out of her as she stared into the glowing shade of blue. “Imagine how pleasantly surprised we were when we learned about his affiliation with the true alpha.” Ricardo continued, releasing his grip, and watched as the man’s head dropped. “He hasn’t cracked yet,” He returned to the podium, addressing the audience without bothering to wipe the blood that now painted his hands. Ronnie didn’t want to know where it came from. “But he will. They always do, and not even Derek Hale can withstand everything.”

As if cued to do so, the boy returned with some form of a metal whip. He rose his hand and before he could snap his wrist Ronnie squeezed her eyes shut, turning away, and trying not to think of the noise that erupted from the man, Mr Hale. She risked looking back up only to see as the whip came down again, slicing right through his chest. The blood oozed out of him, painting the metal in the horrific colour, and only then did she notice there was already something on it.

 _“Wolfsbane,”_ Mr Márquez had informed her. _“It’s a type of poison to werewolves. If you use the right kind, it could kill them, but we mainly use it to weaken them, make them easier to crack.”_

Her back collided with the wall when the whip snapped again, tearing through the skin with ease and pulling out a roar from Mr Hale. The crowd cheered, calling out other forms of torture they wanted to see. They called him a monster, some voted to just kill him, others wanted to watch the poison take his life. Ricardo looked over all of them with pride and Ronnie swore she was going to be sick if this continued any longer.

It didn’t stop, not for another hour. Ricardo got tired of watching, eager to get his hands on the action, and by the time they all called it a night Mr Hale was hardly breathing. Ronnie doubted he was even alive until the wires around his wrist were cut and his body fell to the floor. He didn’t fight, likely didn’t have it in him as they dragged him off the stage and into a separate room.

There was blood everywhere, staining the ground with a yellow mixture. She hadn’t managed to discover what it was, only that the concoction had been made specifically to torture. They had poured it into his cuts, laughing as he cried out or flared his eyes. It was sick how much they all enjoyed it, watching as that man… that _werewolf_ —though she was still struggling to accept that fact— bleed out and withered in pain.

She wasn’t sure at what point in the night she had sunk to the floor, only that when it was finally over she sat with her knees to her chest, her body shaking from the cold and fear, but something else deep within. It was hardly something she was familiar with, but not entirely foreign either.

Mr Parker used to tell her that was normal, that the emotion that preferred to creep in the shadows wasn’t something to be ashamed or afraid of, and for once she wasn’t. For once, she wished she could call on that emotion, use it to put an end to the barbarous things these people did. Instead, all she managed was to clench her fists and hide it beneath the fear and disgust that easily consumed her. She promised she would use it, sooner than later, but rage was an emotion she knew had consequences, and that she wasn’t prepared for.

The crowd dispersed quickly, acting snobby now that the excitement was over. They complained about the dirty warehouse, about the stains they had to manoeuvre around, and gossiped as they made their ways toward their cars. Ronnie was grateful no one paid her any mind as she struggled to get onto her feet, her shaky legs not on board with any of it. She didn’t listen, didn’t think, just moved through the crowd, pushing her way into the darker corners of the warehouse, and just as easily as one would breathe, she disappeared.

Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dark, the time it took to slip out of the heels giving them enough time to prep before she began to walk, her footsteps soundless even in the eerie silence. She walked along the dark corridor, listening for anything, and holding her breath when she finally heard the familiar voice of the Márquez’s and Ricardo.

No one heard her as she slipped into the room, ducking back into the dark and hiding behind a convenient pillar. Her dress was bright and obnoxious, but in this room, there was hardly enough light for the gems to reflect, and their attention wasn’t on any potential guests. They were speaking in hissed whispers to Mr Hale, too quiet for Ronnie to hear, but when looking around the corner she could see the man said nothing.

“Loyal bastards.” Ricardo grumbled as he twisted the cap off a flask, the potent smell emitting from it far worse than any alcohol. She looked away, trying —and failing— to tune out the pained cries coming from Mr Hale as the wolfsbane was poured over his open wounds. She squeezed her eyes shut as they pricked with tears, focusing on remaining hidden away from the people tasked with taking care of her.

* * *

Derek’s body dropped to the floor, blood already pooling around him. He could hear the voices of those who kidnapped him, too distant and muffled for him to understand anything, not that he was truly listening. It was no secret what they wanted from him, and it almost made him laugh that they believed he would tell them anything. Hunters, while they were quite a pain in the ass, weren’t the brightest when it came to the working of werewolves. _“Loyal bastards”_ was an understatement.

Exhaustion hit him hard the moment the three stormed out of the room. Their chemosignals lingered, chocking him with the revolting scent that was disgust and disappointment, and a faint whiff of sickeningly sweet fear. He didn’t bother dissecting any of it, too tired to stay awake let alone analyze anything. His wolf was hardly in any state to stand, unable to even speed up the healing process, weakened by the enhanced wolfsbane in his system. All he wanted was to sleep, and who was Derek to deny that simple request?

The silence drew on, only his wheezing breaths echoing through the room, though sleep didn’t come, nor would it. He laid there, trying to focus on healing the worse wounds, the ones that could be lethal if left untouched, but the sweet smell was still there, and though it seemed muffled it wasn’t something he could ignore.

He wasn’t sure how long it was —his concept of time faded after one day of experimental torture techniques— when another heartbeat made itself known. His body fought as he opened his eyes, or cracked them enough to see, not even strong enough to do more than that. There was a figure in the shadows, a girl if the glimmering dress was any indication, keeping herself in the dark as if she were afraid to move. The smell of fear was coming from her, he realized, and when she stepped into the light the scent became stronger.

 _She was controlling it_ , he discovered. Her heartbeat picked up pace as she sat beside him, her knees tucked under her in a manner that made her look like a curious, fearful child. In more ways than one, that was exactly what she was. She couldn’t have been very old, maybe a high schooler like Scott and Stiles, but that seemed like a reach. The dress gave her the appearance of someone more mature, but the way she moved was childish, and her wide eyes were far too innocent to be a hunter.

Her cold skin startled him, the touch of her palm on his forehead causing him to jolt up, his body screaming in protest as he moved away. She didn’t fight it, her head tilting curiously to the side, and Derek started to doubt the high school theory. He tried to dissect her chemosignals, but in a way that intrigued him more than it should, he couldn’t. It wasn’t unheard of for a human to mask their emotions from werewolves, most skilled hunters found a way to do it over the years, but no one as young as her, and certainly not as innocent looking.

“Can I help you?” He managed to ask, his voice cracking as he did. She winced, not that he could blame her. It had been a few days now that he had been imprisoned in this warehouse, and in all that time he couldn’t remember getting anything other than wolfsbane to drink. His voice sounded terrible, worse than nails on a chalkboard he imagined.

The girl frowned, her eyes flickering down to her hands that had started to fidget with the skirt of her dress. He almost rolled his eyes at the nervous habit, though his lack of energy stopped him from doing so. She got to her feet without uttering a word and disappeared into the dark, her bare feet not making a sound against the concrete floor, something he definitely wanted to look further into.

If his wolf weren’t so weak he would enhance his hearing to seek out her heartbeat, the noise fading away just as she did. He let his eyes fall closed instead, deciding that she had been some strange hallucination, a side effect from the experimental wolfsbane. The heartbeat returned, however, and when he cracked his eyes open once more she was returning to her spot, a red box in her hand.

He watched as she set it on her lap, her movements so gentle and silent that it was making him question his sanity. She pulled out a few things, her eyes flickering up to him and looking over his body with a pout. Not something he was entirely used to from a hunter, but at this point, he wasn’t sure questioning the strange figment of his imagination was worth his time, so he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the cold brush of her skin against his chest.

When he looked back at her there was light in her eyes as she assessed her work. He followed her gaze, frowning at the clean wounds. Was she some nurse hunter, sent here to keep him alive until they had no more use for him? She hardly seemed old enough to know how to treat such deep wounds and especially too young to be unphased by the gory sight that was his body.

She rummaged through the box, pulling out a white piece of what he assumed was chalk, and moved toward the wall he leaned beside. He didn’t close his eyes that time, too curious as to what this girl was up to, and slightly on edge by how calm his wolf was. Sure, fear wasn’t exactly an emotion to be concerned about, but it was the lack of any other emotion that unnerved him, or was it how comfortable she acted around a monster like him?

The light in the room, though dim and hardly enough to read without straining your eyes, was enough for him to see the scribble on the wall. _Ronnie,_ it said and he had to think far too long before he realized what she was saying. “Your name’s Ronnie?” She nodded, her lips lifting in something that must have been meant to be seen as a smile though it came off sadder than that. “And you’re telling me this… why?”

Her hand moved quickly this time around, jotting down her next words with a faked confidence. She leaned back, giving him enough space to read over the shaky words, momentarily drawing his attention to her to see just how badly she was shaking —if she were a friend, he would have been terribly concerned for her by the spasming— but he shook his head and returned to the words, focusing on what she had to say… or write?

_Because I want to help you, I just don’t know how._

Now that certainly wasn’t what he had been expecting. “Who says I need help.” She raised her brow, her eyes dramatically dragging down toward his torn chest. “Don’t bother worrying about me, I’ve survived far worse than this.”

_Your name is Derek Hale?_

“That’s what the boss said, isn’t it?”

His nose scrunched up as the scent of fear grew stronger. He watched her closely now, trying to catch anything that gave something away, but her racing heart had been at the same pace since she stepped out of the shadows, and her expressions were so overly animated that it was proving to be difficult. It didn’t help that she wrote what she had to say, a clever way of hiding when one lies, and something that should have set him off but didn’t.

_Ricardo? I guess you could call him that._

Derek didn’t have anything to say to that, nor did she seem to expect him to. She returned to writing, chewing on her lip during a brief pause. His eyes threatened to close again, though whatever she had done to his wounds was helping them close up without using up too much strength. It was tempting to ask but she pulled away from the wall, looking over to him as she tapped her finger against her thigh.

_He’s threatening to hurt my friends and I can’t do anything to stop him._

“So that’s why you want to help me?” Derek didn’t mean to sound so amused, but he was too tired to hide it. What exactly did she expect him to do about it? He was a werewolf, not Superman.

She glared at him, not finding what was so entertaining about what she said, and she returned to the wall, using a piece of cloth from the box to wipe away her previous words. He wanted to ask why she didn’t just talk, he wanted to ask a lot of things, but once again she finished what she had to say and instead of taking advantage of her attention, his curiosity won over, forcing him to look at what she wrote.

_I want to help you because what they’re doing is sick, but I don’t know how to without putting my friends in danger._

“These friends of yours human or are they like me?”

He studied her reaction, but it was fruitless. There was a moment, far too brief for him to put anything together, where she frowned, but those walls shot up quickly as she returned to the wall.

_If they are, I don’t know about it._

“They got a name?” If they were supernatural, odds are he would know, at least if they were from Beacon Hills he would.

_No offence, but why would I tell you?_

“None taken.” He admitted, slightly impressed. “But, if your friends aren’t human, odds are I would know. Most of us tend to gravitate toward others like us, at least in Beacon Hills.”

_I don’t think it would matter if they were human, werewolf, or a god. Ricardo likes inflicting pain too much to hesitate just because someone isn’t considered a monster._

She looked back toward the dark where he assumed was the door, her eyes wide with what he now realized was fear. The scent was strong on her, not just as a masking technique anymore, but because she was terrified of that man she referred to as Ricardo. He understood why, the crazed look in his eyes sent a wave of unease through Derek so he could hardly imagine how it felt for a small, young girl like herself.

“You must be pretty desperate if you’re seeking help from a werewolf.” He hummed, watching as she diverted her gaze from the dark to focus on him. The fear in her eyes softened as if she wasn’t nearly as scared of the monster beside her. As if instinctual, he wanted to correct that, let her know he wasn’t someone to be trusted. Tell her exactly how easy it would be to cut her open, bleed her out, and there wouldn’t be a thing she could do to stop him. He didn’t.

“I still don’t get what I’m meant to do.” He said instead. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly in the greatest state to do much of anything.”

Her brows furrowed as a flash of confusion consumed her before she shook her head and scribbled something down.

_I’m not asking for you to help me, I’m asking if you have any idea how I could help you._

“Well, that’s new.” He muttered. “What makes you think I’ll just tell you anything? For all I know, you’re working with the hunters and just using your innocent look to get me to spill my guts, preferably not literally.”

The whiff of distraught was far too strong even with the permanent scent of fear. She flinched back at his words, acting as if they had reached out and hit her, her lips parting as a breath was knocked from her. He wasn’t sure what to make of any of it, choosing to watch as she regained her composure, sucking in a shaky breath as if she completely forgot how to breathe properly.

_You don’t have to tell me anything about the alpha or the pack, but if there is something I could do I want to help._

He thought about it. She waited. It was entertaining actually, how he glowered at her and she stared back at him with such a relaxed expression. Faked most likely, but he still found it amusing how calm she could act despite the potent scent of fear wafting from her. To a human, it would be quite believable, but to a werewolf, it was too easy to see through. She may not have been scared of him, but comfortable? That was certainly unlikely.

“I might know of something.” He finally said, keeping his face expressionless, unlike the spark that lit in her eyes. It almost made him think it over again, but the spark softened to a twinkle, something that once more reminded him of a toddler, only this look was one he had seen on hopeful little do-gooders like Scott McCall and Isaac Lahey, two people he trusted more than anyone. So, with a deep sigh and the knowledge that he would likely regret this later, he caved.

“Do you know where Beacon Hills Animal Clinic is?” She nodded slowly, almost unsurely. “Go there. Whatever you do, that’s up to you, but if you really want to help, that’s how.”

With one last nod, she got to her feet, grabbed the box, and disappeared into the shadows as if she had never been there, not even the chalk dust left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Language, violence


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings on specific chapters

A few days passed by before Ronnie managed to work up the courage to do anything. It wasn’t that she was afraid of what she might find —she had come to terms with the whole werewolf situation alarmingly quickly, but she didn’t bother overthinking that matter, saving that until much later when everything calmed down and she could breathe again— but of what Ricardo might do if he were to learn of what she planned on doing once they turned around.

He didn’t act any more suspicious of her than usual during the past week, only keeping a rather close eye on what she got up to, but not yet feeling the need to follow her wherever she went, and the Márquezes hadn’t even considered that she may be against what they did. Sure, she hadn’t given them any reason to think otherwise, not with her believable excuse as to why she had been avoiding school all week, or more so agreed with the excuse they handed her when she first showed hesitance to go, playing along with the idea that she had accepted her role in the hunt for this true alpha.

She applauded herself for the act she had put on, performing with a skill she wasn’t even aware she had. Her sudden curiosity about werewolves certainly helped her sell the lie, opening up about what she found interesting and asking questions as soon as she realized it was acceptable. In fact, it was welcomed with open arms and fond laughs, met with praise by the end of the night.

The Márquezes thought nothing of it, all too thrilled that she was coming to terms with the supernatural world and where she fits in. They answered her questions with enthusiasm, offering up more information than she originally bargained for, but she never complained, not once. She certainly doesn’t agree with what they stood for and what they believed, but they knew a lot more than she thought and wasn’t about to risk walking into something blind, especially when there were lives at stake, the lives of people she had grown rather fond of during the past few months.

They told her everything, from how one becomes a werewolf, their behaviours and how it is affected by the full moon, the fonds shared within packs, and the stories surrounding the legendary true alpha. She started to carry around a pocket notepad, pulling it out whenever they shared their knowledge and jotting down whatever questions arose while they went on about different topics, handing it over to them to answer what they could and were willing, though she had yet to find a subject they kept off the table.

Ronnie remained cautious, never diving too far into her curiosity, always withholding some questions that may make it seem as if she were _for_ werewolves rather than against. Those questions were tucked away into her black journal along with the information she discovered and was eager to learn more of. She doodled them with girly swirls and hearts to disguise it, keep it secretive in case of any possibility Ricardo may snoop through it, but she understood what each little doodle meant.

The swirls starting in the corner —loosely inspired by the Hale pack symbol, there to remind her of another life on the line— with vines pulling from it and decorating the entire page represented their ability to take pain, a picture frame with a rather blurry image for their ability to view memories, and a sunken ship with a mermaid swimming into it for her curiosity on the briefly mentioned anchors.

It felt ridiculous, especially when she was first coming to terms with everything, but after a while, she hardly thought twice about the random enquires her mind conducted surrounding the supernatural world. She couldn’t explain why or exactly when it all began, only that it had to be sometime within the past week, but she felt rather comfortable with everything, as if a piece of her slipped into place, completing another part of the broken puzzle that she had become.

When she finally found herself standing outside the clinic, a week since she spoke to Mr Hale, there was less than two days before the next gathering, one where Ricardo was rather keen to be rid of their prisoner. She felt a wave of nausea rise each time she thought back to that conversation, remembered how she almost showed her distaste in the plan, and if his amused expression said anything it was that she did a poor job hiding it.

He didn’t even know just how deep it went, how every time she closed her eyes she was forced to watch as he murdered someone she knew, and there wasn’t a single thing she could do. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t cry, couldn’t move, just stood there paralyzed, eyes unable to tear away as the life faded from their eyes, as their bodies hit the ground with a thud that echoed throughout the warehouse. The closest he had come to realize was one night, shortly after she shot up from yet another nightmare only to see a figure sitting in the corner of her room. His dark, haunting chuckle still vibrated in her ears.

 _“I wasn’t sure if the rumours were true,”_ He had said, slowly moving from the seat in the dark, approaching her as she remained lost, not fully out of the haze that came after such a realistic, frightful dream, but her eyes focused on his figure quite easily as if her senses heightened purely for that purpose. _“Had to see for myself, and may I say, I’m not disappointed.”_ His calloused hands wiped away her falling tears, moving to her chin that he gripped with a strength that she believed may leave a bruise behind. _“You really can’t scream, can you?”_

She refused to let her fear control her any longer, especially after that night. He never hurt her, not _really_. At least, if she were to compare his actions toward others with the ones directed toward herself, the ones that truly were something violent, everything he did to her was child’s play, something she needed to accept because they weren’t stopping anytime soon. She knew once he got tired of tormenting her he would move on, and if he wanted there would be nothing stopping him from directing it toward her friends. That was something she couldn’t let happen.

The clinic looked smaller than what she imagined, warmer and more welcoming than she expected, though she only knew of it through Scott who rarely spoke of his work, only occasionally mentioning his boss, Deaton. She wondered —briefly, too afraid of any truth in her thoughts— if he knew anything of Mr Hale or werewolves. Her thoughts travelled as far as Stiles’s contact name for him and shut off with a snap, halting them from going any deeper, and she didn’t bother fighting it.

Mr Hale’s words were still fresh in her mind when she stopped in front of the clinic, staring up at it with a vague sense of unease. She remembered the uncertainty in his eyes when he spoke to her, watching her as if he expected her to bite him at any given moment. It almost made her decide against coming when she thought of the hesitance in his words when he shared of the clinic. There was a small pinch of fear hidden beneath his crumbling mask, fear of what she could do with the limited information he shared. Her heart tightened just thinking about it all.

Ronnie was no stranger to violence, to pain, or death. She grew up surrounded by it, saw it every day. It was something she grew accustomed to, something she accepted long ago, but the thought of anything happening to him, to her friends, or any werewolf for that matter, made something new burn inside her. The feeling boiling beneath the surface wasn’t enough to burst through the thick fear that kept most of her emotions locked away, but strong enough for her to sense it there, to know of the power that came with it.

She focused on the heat in her blood, the way her heart raced just the slightest, and how, for once, her mind wasn’t overwhelmed with the fears that plagued her. It distracted her from the minor clench in her gut, the one that warned her of possible dangers beyond the doors, away from the prying eyes that drove passed. The familiar motorcycle that shined in the corner of her eye, calling her attention as if it were beneath a spotlight, was just enough to give her the final push to walk inside.

At first, everything was overwhelming. Something snapped inside her just as the door swung closed, the gentle bell ringing above her head hardly causing a jolt of fear, or any emotion for that matter. She exhaled a breath she wasn’t sure how long she’d been holding, her shoulders relaxing, her grip on the backpack easing enough for her mind to realize how easy it would be for someone to snatch it away from her. That thought was quickly brushed off by another, one that was new and would cause a panic once she was alone again.

_You’re safe here._

The clinic was quiet; only the muffled sound of dogs barking and soft, hushed voices coming from another room. She moved toward the corner of the lobby instinctively, her eyes wandering over the interior, flickering toward the doorway where a man now stood. He smiled kindly at her, his eyes gentle and soothing, his presence itself almost enough to erase the rest of her fears and worries, and she struggled to keep her focus on those very emotions, the ones that drove her to go there.

“Hello there.” The man spoke, his voice just as she expected it to be. “May I help you?” She bit her lip, unsure how exactly to pull out her notebook or write something down without raising any kind of red flags. If this man worked with or knew anything about werewolves she doubted he would be clueless to the recent threats in town. “Forgive me, miss, but you seem awfully familiar.”

Her eyes shot up, staring at the man who —while his presence alone reminded her much of something all too familiar for her to spend too much time pondering on— she had never seen before. She shook her head slowly, almost unsurely, yet she didn’t have any doubts that this man was a stranger to her. His brows furrowed, eyes tracing over her and freezing on the backpack, a breath of air knocked from him.

“Would you like to come inside…” He didn’t sound confident in the suggestion even as he pushed open the small door on the half wall, standing to the side to give her enough space to walk through. “I always find it’s easier to relax when you’re somewhere private.”

She didn’t feel herself tense as she expected, only the slight tightening of her grip around the backpack strap as she walked past him, following him into another room where, sure enough, she felt the tension slipping away, leaving behind a tingling sensation. The hushed voices erupted when he opened a door, poking his head inside and gesturing for someone to come out. He glanced back to smile, moving away so the stranger could walk through, and she felt a smile break out on her lips almost in relief.

“Ronnie?”

* * *

Scott’s heart leapt to his throat, choking him as he laid eyes on the pale girl standing in the clinic. He hadn’t seen Ronnie since that day they skipped school, since they watched as she got on the back of that man’s motorcycle since they all learned that she may be in more danger than they originally dared to think. No one saw her at school, Corey stopped seeing her in the diner where he worked or at the gym for their self-defence classes.

She disappeared, completely off the radar, to the point that no werewolf or werecoyote could catch her scent, and if it weren’t for Lydia they might have started to believe something happened to her, but the banshee quickly reminded everyone that, if that were to happen, she would sense it. So —reluctantly— Scott convinced his pack to stop worrying, told Liam he wasn’t giving up and tried to distract them with the main threat that was making itself known.

Now that he finally saw her, had proof that she was okay, he wasn’t sure exactly how to react, or what would be considered appropriate. The overwhelming urge to wrap her in his arms, hide her away from the world, protect her from anything that might even think of causing her harm, certainly didn’t seem like the right thing to do, especially considering how she typically reacts to any kind of touch, nor did it seem like the time to do so. Not yet at least, not until he knew for sure she was okay.

His eyes darted over every inch of her faster than he knew to be possible, his senses focusing on solely her, sighing in relief once he concluded that there were no visible injuries and the smell of blood that lingered in the air was from the other room, not her. In fact, she looked relatively okay, at least better than anything he feared may have come of her, which he couldn’t decide was a good or bad thing.

The circles under her eyes looked far more profound than he remembered, her skin a few shades lighter, just teetering on deathly pale, and she had definitely lost some weight. Other than that, there wasn’t anything he could see that would cause any alarm, though her hair was a few inches longer, still above her shoulders but enough for him to notice that there had been far more time than he cared to admit since they last saw her.

There was only a small trace of fear —one that he started to believe may always surround her as if it were just a part of her natural scent— but not enough to worry over, mixed with a hint of something he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t unpleasant, it actually seemed rather fitting for her, but the emotion was one he hadn’t caught on her before, and while most chemosignals all smelled similar, each individual had their own distinctive twist, one that prevented him from catching exactly what she was feeling in that moment.

He skipped the growing curiosity as to what she was doing there, his lips mirroring the smile that had appeared on hers. She seemed to relax, even her knuckles were pink as she held the strap of her backpack, something they had learned was her most cherished possession, possibly even her only according to Corey. Her heart beats rhythmically, still faster than should be considered healthy, but unlike the spaz it was when he first heard it, there is a pattern with each thump, one that gives the impression that she is calm, as much as she possibly could be at least.

“How are you?” He finally asks, taking a step closer to quench the need to protect her, even if it isn’t by much. She’s still too far away, still out in the open despite being inside the clinic, still in a position where a threat could hit her at any moment. “We were starting to worry something might have happened to you… or maybe you left town.”

No one had considered the latter until lacrosse practice two days prior. Scott still wasn’t sure what had triggered it, only that one second they were doing alright, that he was laughing with Kira, going over drills with Liam, and praising his team, and the next Liam ran from the field, off into the woods. When he finally managed to find him, his beta had his knees against his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, hiccupping sobs.

Liam didn’t say much, barely enough for Scott to understand the meaning behind his shaking despite the weather warming up. Not that he could say much between each sob and gasp for air, and when Scott tried to get him to calm down, it would start up again the moment he tried to get him to talk, so he decided to drop it, let Liam come to him about it later that night when he managed to convince his beta to stay the night, not daring to mention that it was because he was worried for the young werewolf.

They didn’t talk about it again, and when Scott hesitantly decided to bring it up to the pack, he quickly added that Liam wasn’t to be discussed about anything remotely close to the topic. His beta was going through enough. Lydia agreed, pulling Stiles and Malia on board, and Kira just nodded solemnly. Scott knew they all wanted to be able to comfort the beta, that they wanted to let him know he wasn’t alone, and he was more than grateful for his pack, but Scott decided this was best, for now.

Ronnie looked surprised by his words, startled even, and she tilted her head in a silent question, voicing her confusion in her own way. Scott wasn’t sure what exactly didn’t make sense to her, he thought that he had been fairly clear in his question, and the statement wasn’t too far fetched considering she had been transferred from Bakersfield, a good 200 miles from Beacon Hills. He frowned a bit as he tried to rethink what he had said, eventually giving up. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t look any less confused, her eyes widening a fraction only to narrow, her entire face scrunching up as she stared at him as if he were a rather difficult puzzle. “You haven’t been at school, and you don’t have a phone so we couldn’t get ahold of you to check…” He stopped, noticing how she seemed to take a cautious step back, her lips parting as if she were about to say something, snapping shut immediately after. “Is everything okay?”

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but her grabbing her journal to draw something certainly wasn’t it. She seemed hesitant, staring down at it and back at him before taking a deep, shaky breath and offering the book. Scott took it, watching her for a few moments longer, studying her expression that had washed away, masking her confusion and fear with something he could only describe as determination.

Scott sucked in a breath when he finally looked down at the book, his eyes widening as he looked over each intricate detail. She hadn’t spent that much time with it, jotting it down just as quickly as she did when she wrote her thoughts down, but he still managed to find words mixed within the swirls that were undeniably resembling the Hale’s symbol.

“Derek…” He muttered, suddenly feeling nauseous. When was the last time he had talked to his friend? His heart rate picked up when he glanced back to Ronnie whose eyes had widened. “Wait… do you know him?” Her eyes flickered to Deaton who still stood behind Scott, the emissary taking the hint and letting Scott know he would be in the other room. The alpha didn’t pay much attention as Deaton slipped inside, nor the worried murmurs from the other pack members that were no doubt eavesdropping on the other side. “Ronnie, do you know Derek Hale?”

Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded her head, the scent of fear overwhelming the room as if she had finally allowed herself to feel it. Her body slumped against the wall behind her and the circles under her eyes were nothing compared to the pure exhaustion that consumed her, pulling her body until she sat on the cold tile. Scott didn’t fight back this time, moving to sit beside her, close enough that she could lean on him if she wanted to.

She scooted closer, curling up until she was as small as a newborn puppy, and leaning against him as if she desperately needed to be protected by him. He pulled her closer —if that were even possible without scooping her up into his lap— and wrapped his arms around her, holding her now shaking body in his arms, barely catching the silent sobs, but there was no sadness wafting from her. In fact, other than fear, there wasn’t anything else he could catch, not even the hint of the strange smell, gone as if it had never been there.

“You’re okay.” He whispered, combing his fingers through her slightly tangled her, making sure to pull it away from her face so it wouldn’t stick to her now damp skin. _You’re safe now_ , he wanted to say, but he couldn’t promise her that, and something told him that she wouldn’t believe him anyway. She clung to his shirt, curled up even smaller into his side, her body shaking violently as she silently cried into his chest. “I’ve got you, Ronnie.”

They sat there, blanketed by a relatively peaceful silence, their heartbeats the only noise that he cared to focus on, not caring how much time had passed. Ronnie stopped crying not long after starting, her sharp breaths and lack of breathing letting him know that was forced, but she still shook with a ferocity that made his chest painfully tight with worry. He didn’t bother trying to listen to the pack or what Deaton might be telling them, just held the small, frail, and terrified girl in his arms, swearing to himself that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

The door to the operating room squeaked open, breaking the atmosphere around them and causing Ronnie to jump just the slightest, her grip on his shirt tightening but she never dared to lift her head. He didn’t stop brushing her hair —momentarily shocked to find that he had gotten out all the tangles at some point— as he looked over toward the member who stepped quietly out of the room, her feet bare as she held her heels in her hand.

Lydia spotted them fairly easily, not that he expected otherwise. They weren’t tucked away in some corner, the lights were still too bright, one flickering obnoxiously while the other looked seconds away from bursting it was so bright, and she didn’t have to look far. She frowned the moment she laid eyes on them and he could only imagine how they must have looked, and if it were close to how it felt sitting there, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see.

He knew there were tears in his eyes, ones that he was trying awfully hard to hold back, somehow managing to do so without squeezing them shut or holding his breath. They weren’t the kind he could just blink away either, but he still tried, tried to smile through it even if it looked pathetically fake, even if he knew Lydia would see right through it because she was never fooled by such things.

She set her shoes down gently, moving to sit on the opposite side of him, the one that wasn’t occupied, and laid her head on his shoulder. He rested his atop hers, finally letting a tear or two spill from his eyes, taking Lydia’s offered hand and squeezing it. Protecting the town was his job, had been since he got bit, and yet he felt as if the weight of the world was thrown on his shoulders the moment those tears started to well up in Ronnie’s eyes. Felt as if he had failed in his one job all because the girl cried and reeked of fear.

Ronnie pushed herself away, sat up with her knees to her chest, her hands laying firmly atop her knees. He watched as she put her walls up, watched as the vulnerable that had fallen apart not even a minute ago disappeared, replaced by one whose eyes were wide with fear and only fear as if that one emotion would shield away the stronger emotions, keep them hidden from anyone who might see or use it. It wasn’t something Scott had seen before, never met someone who acted afraid to hide how they really felt or who they really were, but suddenly parts of her were starting to make sense.

“Are you okay?” He asked cautiously but he knew it was too late. Her walls were back and nothing he did would chip away at them, not now, not so soon after letting them down. As expected, she nodded slowly, carefully, a hint of hesitance in the way she moved, but she got to her feet, her body no longer shaking, only her damp cheeks proof that moments ago she had been crying. He pulled Lydia onto her feet, the two standing side by side as they stared at the girl.

One look in her direction told him the banshee had made the same realization as him. She sent him a nod, took a step forward, and called out for the girl who flinched back at hearing her name, almost as if she hadn’t heard it in so long, her eyes wide as if she had forgotten it. “I’m going to ask you a question and I need you to tell us the truth and only the truth, do you understand?”

Scott’s eyes flickered between the two girls, watched as Ronnie allowed a flicker of pain to fill her eyes, letting enough of that vulnerable side out for Lydia to know she trusted the banshee and therefore could do the same. He wasn’t sure how that was so clear without scenting her chemosignals, yet Lydia and he understood it as clearly as they would if she had said it to them.

“Do you know?”

There was no need to explain and that made Scott’s heart drop. She swallowed, eyes flickering to him and her lip quivered before she finally nodded. They saw this coming; they knew it would happen, yet he felt so surprised, caught off guard, vulnerable. He stared back at her with wide eyes, questioning why she would let him comfort her if she knew what he was if the hunters had no doubt filled her mind with lies and horror stories about their kind.

“How much?” Lydia asked, unphased by the response they were given as if she already knew the answer. Maybe she did, the banshee seemed to always know a lot more than the others.

Ronnie’s eyes fell to the floor as she moved to grab her journal that laid so carelessly on the floor, her backpack still resting against the wall where they had been sitting. She didn’t make any move to grab it, just picked up her journal, wrote something down, and offered it to Lydia. Scott didn’t hesitate to peer over her shoulder, reading over the words carefully.

_I know Scott, Malia, and Liam. They suspect it too._

“What do they suspect?” Scott said, his heart starting to thrum at the thought of anything happening to his beta or werecoyote.

She took a deep, shaky breath, reached out for the journal that Lydia returned swiftly, and went back to writing something down. He wasn’t sure what he thought she would answer with, most of what she had to say were one, two, maybe three sentences but she never took long to write them. Her hand always danced across the page with ease but this time it didn’t. There were pauses between letters, she erased far too many times, and when she finally handed the journal to Lydia he was vibrating with nerves.

_My foster brother Ricardo knows what Liam is, that he’s the beta to the true alpha (which they don’t know yet but are getting pretty close to figuring out) and they are close to confirming that Nurse McCall helps out the pack. They have Derek Hale and are trying to get him to talk but he won’t. Ricardo plans on killing him at the next gathering in two days if he still doesn’t crack. Once he’s gone they plan to go after Liam, specifically his family, and if they still have nothing by then (which they are confident they’ll know by the end of next week) they’ll go after Nurse McCall._

“Do they know where you are?” Scott needed to know, needed to make sure she wasn’t going to get hurt for telling them all of this. She shook her head but even she didn’t look sure of that answer.

Their attention snapped to the door, startled by the way it squeaked, the noise making it clear just how tense the room had gotten, broken by Malia as she stepped out of the room with an exasperated sigh. “Okay, I know this entire situation sucks, but if she already knows then can we just get this whole thing over with?”

Stiles stumbled out behind her, his hands shooting up in surrender as he looked at the trio staring back at him. “I tried to tell her not to, she didn’t listen.” He flinched as she swatted at him, now surrendering to his girlfriend which seemed awfully fitting Scott realized. “What, I did. I’m not getting in trouble for this because you couldn’t stand the smell in there.”

“When you have to breathe in desperation, then I’ll let you say whether or not I can barge into the next room. Besides, it’s not like Ronnie doesn’t know so who cares. She seems to be coping with it.” Malia eyed over the green-eyed girl who had hardly reacted to the entire scene, just watched with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes, something that felt terribly dim compared to ones they’ve seen before. “See, she hasn’t run for the hills yet. I think that’s a good thing.”

“I thought I told you to stop eavesdropping.” Lydia scolded though there wasn’t anything upset about her tone as she went to slip back on her shoes. The heels clicked against the tile two times, the banshee smiling, quite satisfied with herself. “And knowing about something and accepting it are two different things.”

Malia rolled her eyes. “Hey, kid, you alright with us being freaks?” Ronnie tilted her head to the side as if confused by the question, nodding nonetheless. “Great, now that that’s over with, can someone give the runt a hug before I _strangle_ him.”

Scott frowned, his eyes shooting back to the open door, the room barely visible through the space but he could see enough. He spotted Deaton fiddling with something at the counter, rambling on about what he was doing and with what, a way of distracting certain pack members when they were in desperate need of it. The alpha didn’t need to look any further to know exactly who was in need, just gave Ronnie a quick, reassuring squeeze on her shoulder before heading into the operating room.

His beta spotted him immediately, likely sensing that his alpha was in the room. Liam’s head shot up, staring right at Scott and just as quickly his shoulders sagged. Scott should have expected it, he should have been more prepared, but all he could do was pull Liam into a hug, squeezing him enough that a human would complain about being squished or crushed, but the beta nuzzled into the safety and comfort the embrace offered.

“She’s alright, Liam.” He whispered, positive that it was the first thing that needed to be cleared. Ronnie wasn’t hurt, nor was she really all that shaken up. Overwhelmed, maybe, but there was something about the way she held herself that told him she was okay, that she’d get through all of this in one piece. With a sigh, he tried, “I doubt she’s scared of you,” but his beta practically scoffed at that.

He pushed himself away, wiping away his tears quickly and turning back to the counter where Deaton continued to work, unphased by the dark cloud that seemed to follow the pack. Scott envied the emissary sometimes. Other times not so much. “If she isn’t yet, Malia might.” Lydia chuckled as she stepped into the room. “I think she’s a lot more geeked out about Ronnie knowing than is considered healthy.”

“And she was the most hesitant when she started hanging out with us.” Scott shook his head, allowing himself just a moment of amusement before returning to Liam. “You can see her, you know.”

“It’s fine.”

“Oh, for the love,” Lydia popped her head into the other room. “Ronnie, would you be a dear and come knock some sense into Liam, please.”

There was a laugh from the other room that was distinctively Stiles, Malia shushing him and practically pushing the girl into the room, not that she fought it. “Please!” She whined. “I can’t stand that stupid pout. Make it go away.”

“I’m not pouting!” Liam shot back, fists clenched by his side, and pout on full display. Scott sent him a sympathetic smile, praying his beta didn’t notice just how much he was enjoying their interactions.

Ronnie stood in the doorway, hands hidden in her sleeves, only her fingers poking out as she swayed back and forth. She didn’t look or smell scared, not that Scott could tell at least, but Malia had been right when she implied the desperation was overwhelming. There was hardly any other scent that was stronger and not just because Ronnie may be masking it —Scott tried to scent Lydia and Deaton’s emotions as well and found nothing.

She finally pulled together a smile, the amusement shining brighter, consuming her eyes that now were glistening emeralds and when Scott turned to see what she was almost grinning about he choked back a laugh. Liam looked every definition of a shy, awkward, teenage boy with a crush. He stared at the floor, held his hands behind his back, and had a bright red blush across his cheeks on full display. He wasn’t sure what exactly about the situation could have caused it unless he had been caught staring, something that the alpha understood a bit too well.

Kira giggled from her corner of the room, pushing herself out of the seat that she was so adorably curled up in. She took Scott’s hand in hers, tugging him out of the room with a whispered, “Maybe we should give them some space,” gesturing for Lydia who already was on board with the plan. “We’ve got something to discuss anyways.”

“We do?” Scott felt dumb, he did a lot whenever he spent too much time with the girls of the pack, the ones who seemed to always be ten steps ahead while he hadn’t even passed go.

“Yeah, we do.” Stiles jumped in and dragged them into the conversation with Malia. “There is no way we are letting her go back to that hell house.”

“Don’t be so overdramatic.” Malia rolled her eyes.

“Okay, I don’t know what you guys know, but that girl hasn’t slept or eaten in days.”

They all fell silent, aware that it was a fact they all happened to notice. The guilt was already clawing at Scott’s stomach. “So, what do we do?” He sounded just as defeated as he felt. It was always easier to let himself be weak with the older pack, mainly Stiles and Lydia. They’d witnessed far worse than a few tears, and Malia met him when he was at a low point. There was no point in hiding anything when they would find a way to see right through it. “If we aren’t smart about this she could get hurt, or worse.”

“Why can’t we just tell the police?” Malia asked. “Aren’t they supposed to protect people from being in dangerous situations? I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t think she’s exactly in a safe place right now.”

Lydia shook her head. “After all the research I’ve done on foster kids, the police rarely do anything until a kid is dead or on death’s door.” Her eyes widened. “Ronnie didn’t say they knew about Kira and me!” Now Scott felt positive he was an idiot. They all did apparently, and Lydia rolled her eyes, tired of their slow minds. “Right now, the last thing any of us should be is alone, so Scott’s been saying it would be easier if we were all under the same roof…” Still, no one seemed to get it, although Kira was grinning now. “Pack sleepover, you idiots.”

“Is that a good idea right now?” Scott flinched as Stiles’s hand cuffed the back of his head, sending a glare to his best friend which was quickly returned. “Ow!”

“He’s human, stop complaining.” Malia said.

“If they know about Liam and Malia, the best way to make sure nothing happens to them will be to know where they are, and Ronnie could use a few familiar, _safe_ faces. You know, people who can answer her questions about the supernatural without being told stories about massacres or scared of what she should and shouldn’t ask.” Lydia shrugged. “It could be fun.”

“I’m in!” Kira exclaimed, jumping a bit before looking to the ground, a rosy flush reaching her cheeks that Scott felt the urge to kiss away or make stronger. He wouldn’t complain about either one. “I’ve never really had a sleepover before.”

“Sure.” Malia shrugged. “As long as no one chains me to anything, I’m good.”

They all agreed, Lydia decided that Liam and Ronnie would get no say, sharing a look with Kira that Scott was scared to know the meaning of, and sent a quick text to Mason and Corey who were on board at the promise of pizza and pillow forts. Scott watched as they all quickly got to planning, listened for a minute to see if his beta and Ronnie were okay —he could hear Deaton explaining the meaning behind an anchor, but the scent of despair was thankfully gone— and with a sigh, he leaned against the wall.

This wouldn’t last, he knew it wouldn’t, but he decided to enjoy it. Two days, Ronnie said they had. He just hoped Derek would last that long, that the hunters wouldn’t get impatient and move things forward. That they wouldn’t be too late, and Lydia’s vision would remain that: a possible reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentions of self-neglect, mentions of minor assault


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings on specific chapters

Liam squeezed his eyes shut just as the door swung closed, the faint snickers coming from the pack only causing him to tense more. He could hear Deaton beside him, muttering something to himself as he finished up his work, likely preparing to leave as the others had done, and the faint sound of a heartbeat thumping a bit too fast. It wasn’t unsettling, not as he expected it to be. If anything, he should be relieved that she’s okay, that she was even there in the first place, especially if Malia was right and she _knew_.

He knew he was overreacting, knew it the moment the bell rang in the clinic. The abrupt movement and spiked chemosignals didn’t help to ease the already on edge pack, made it worse the second he sprung out of his chair. It wasn’t his fault, not that the others would be easily convinced of it. His mind conjured up the worst, went over any possibility that the hunters could have followed them there, planned an attack while their strongest fighters were still healing, the phantom pain from a bullet wound still fresh on his bicep.

They were all tired, wounds still raw from the earlier attack, and exhaustion slowly starting to set in. Malia had just hopped up on the examination table, eyes flared as Deaton focused solely on taking out the bullet lodged into her shoulder, and while she seemed highly appreciative —borderline amused— of the distraction brought by the spastic beta, the others glared at him. It had been a long day; he couldn’t blame them for being mildly annoyed by his behaviour.

It wasn’t until he was hit with the strong scent of fear, heard the heartbeat that always beat faster than should be considered healthy, and the wolf inside started to claw, begging to be released from its cage, itching to run toward the only thing that seemed to soothe him nowadays. He fought back, barely winning, Scott’s eyes now firmly on him, watching as if he were searching for some explanation that the beta couldn’t have given even if he understood.

With his anchor so close, standing right in front of him now, it was hard to do much of anything other than focus on her. She stayed on the opposite end of the room, kept too much distance between the two, and Liam immediately found a way to make himself the reason behind it. He knew it had been a while, that they weren’t technically alone, that Deaton wasn’t a familiar face no matter how comforting he was to have around, that he couldn’t possibly know what happened while she was gone.

Yet it made more sense for that what he was would be the reason behind her hesitance, that nothing he could add to the ever-growing list would make more sense than that.

Deaton hummed something, something that sounded too much like a farewell, something that meant he was about to be left alone with a girl he didn’t know what to do about. It sounded stupid, so stupid that if Mason were there he would have been smacked countless times by now, called overdramatic, told that this wasn’t even close to as bad as he was making it seem. Still, the thought of having to navigate the situation alone suddenly sounded nerve-racking, borderline stressful, and he wasn’t sure he could do it.

“Wait!” Liam scrambled to get out, his voice startling Ronnie which only made him sink away, eyes trailing back to the ground in shame. “You can finish, really it’s no big deal.” The emissary raised a brow, eyed the two, and nodded, thankfully reading between the lines that were in bold and underlined twenty times, screaming _please don’t leave me alone right now!_

He felt better having her in the same room than when he just _knew_ she was there, yet too far for the wolf inside to reach. When her heartbeat was close enough that he could focus on it, the rhythm soothing the wolf, not enough to make controlling the beast easy, barely tolerable, but he managed far worse; this wasn’t too difficult. Liam sank further into his seat, tried to hold back the urge to burst out of the room and into the entrance, opting for scooting closer to Lydia. She never said a thing —just shared a brief look with Scott— threw her arm over his shoulder and pulled him closer.

Malia barking at Deaton didn’t help either, startled the rest of the pack who had just managed to relax from the beta’s earlier actions. No longer amused by whatever had Liam acting so strange, she sent Deaton off to go see who had wandered into the clinic. She muttered something about “I can do it myself” which wasn’t what anyone wanted to hear, or see, but she already shooed him away, bringing her claw into her shoulder and digging around.

A few minutes passed before Deaton knocked on the door, informed them that he was opening it, giving them time to hide the shift if need be. Malia’s claws were already retracted once she finished digging out the bullet, and with a bit of assistance from Kira they had the wolfsbane out of her system and her skin knitting itself together. The others had barely begun discussing what happened, preparing to go over what they were to do when Scott was asked to step out of the room, the open door welcoming the familiar scent that, if Malia perking up said anything, he wasn’t the only one to recognize.

Everyone reacted simultaneously; the door not even closed when Scott breathed out her name. First, it was Malia, spinning around to stare at the others as if to say _I told you so_ , Stiles gasped in a rather dramatic fashion, and Lydia and Kira shared a sigh of relief. It made sense, Liam couldn’t have been the only one worrying about her, about what could have happened to make her stop going to school, and if their whispering that silenced the moment he entered the room meant anything, it was that she was a topic of conversation more often than not.

All in one movement, Deaton slipped inside, closed the door behind him, and gave them a look that should have been taken seriously, but wasn’t. Malia was already jumping off the examination table, halfway to the wall to press her ear against it, listening to the conversation in the neighbouring room, only pulling away to shoosh Stiles who hadn’t stopped asking, “What are they saying?” every five seconds.

When silence fell in the other room the present pack grew anxious. Even Kira, who managed to seem relatively calm in most stressful situations, started to tap her foot, everyone taking turns glancing over at Malia who only ever shook her head, a worried haze in her dark eyes. Lydia was the first to have enough, pulling away from Liam who had sunken further into the seat, almost curling into her side embrace, whining when she stood up. She squeezed his shoulder, picked up her shoes from under the chair and sighed, drawing all eyes on her.

“I’ll go check on them.” She had said. Her hand froze on the doorknob, a finger tapping once on the metal before spinning around to point a finger at Malia. “Don’t eavesdrop,” —she turned to the others— “and don’t encourage her.”

Far too long later, Liam gratefully took Deaton’s offered distraction, doing everything the emissary told him to and more, breathing easier now that his mind wasn’t racing. He knew the others were staring at him, could feel their concern, possibly even smell it, but he made no move to try and convince them all he was fine. They would see right through him, Malia would blatantly call him out on his lie, and truly he saw no point in it. None of them were fine, maybe that was okay.

Now no one else was in the room, Deaton stayed purely out of pity for the pathetic beta, and he hadn’t even managed to look Ronnie in the eyes despite how much he ached to know that she was okay, physically at least. She watched him though, head tilted to the side as if she were trying to understand a very intriguing puzzle. It helped him relax, made it easier to convince himself that she wasn’t going to run for the hills the second he opens his mouth or moves a muscle.

He slowly tore his eyes away from the ground, dragged them up to her eyes, and let out a breath he’d been holding. There was no fear in them, the beautiful swirls of green and silver dancing inside just as mesmerizing as he remembered. She wasn’t acting any different either, her curiosity just as clear as it would have been if they were sitting at lunch with the pack. With a deep, supposed to be grounding breath, he spoke. “Hi.”

Stupid, he knows, but nothing else seemed right. _Are you okay?_ Obviously no, something he could see clearly by her red-rimmed eyes and shivering body. She wasn’t scared, her scent didn’t match that, but he failed to decipher what it might be. _Where have you been?_ That sounded possessive and while it pleased the wolf, it left something sour in Liam.

Maybe it was stupid, but he settled with the one thing he knew would guarantee that small, half-smile she greets everyone with. It should have been clear by now that he wasn’t everyone. There was no half-smile, she full-on grinned, breathing out a laugh that made his face feel warm that he almost feared was some fever side effect from wolfsbane poisoning. She lifted her hand in that mock wave, he mimicked the gesture, and suddenly it didn’t feel too nerve-racking.

They were easily distracted by the clattering on the counter as Deaton put away a few jars, each one labelled for the sake of the pack once it became rather clear none of them was going to remember the Latin names the emissary always used. Liam turned back to Ronnie, barely caught the way her lips were parted, how her eyes narrowed in a questioning gaze before she snapped out of it, literally shaking her head, and taking a shaky breath.

“Malia…” He stopped, avoiding her gaze as he tried to string together the words that were running away from him. “She said that you _know_ … about us, about what we are?” Ronnie’s eyes widened and he wondered if maybe the werecoyote had heard wrong, not that she ever had in the past. His thoughts fell silent when Ronnie slowly nodded, his breath catching in his throat.

The air surely smelt thickly of dread as he tried to work up the courage to ask the question that raced through his mind the moment those words left Malia’s mouth. He kept his eyes trained on the tile, terrified to see what might flash across her face if he were to watch Ronnie’s reaction. She’d never lied before, not that he knew of, but it left something awful in his stomach at the thought that she might not look at him the same way anymore. That, now that she knows, even if it isn’t everything, she would never see him as anything more than a… a monster.

He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as he went over the mantra. _The sun, the moon, the truth._ It didn’t help, if anything it made his anger flare, the wolf growling at the repeated, meaningless words. Neither of them wanted to ask, but Liam needed to, needed to know, so he lifted his gaze, shuttered when he saw the concern and patience in her eyes and decided _fuck it_. “Does it scare you?”

She looked unsure as the blurted-out question reached her ears, but there was nothing else that could give him any indication of what may be running through her head. A beat passed, then two, and the wolf inside was growing restless as she thought. Was it normal for it to take this long? Did she really have to think about it? How long had it even been? Not that long, surely, but it dragged on far more than he was comfortable with.

Ronnie met his gaze, her eyes soft, the green stronger than he’d ever seen before. Something about it helped ease the anxious pacing the wolf had begun doing, let him breath easier until he sighed in relief, entire body practically melting as she shook her head. He didn’t even bother trying to listen to her heart, see if he could detect a lie, just pleased that she said she wasn’t afraid. Whether or not it was true could be discovered later. Much, _much_ later.

“Interesting…” Deaton hummed behind him, causing Liam to jump, already forgetting they weren’t alone in the room. “Liam, would you mind lending a hand for a minute?”

“Is everything okay?” He followed the emissary to the table in the centre of the room, peeling off his shirt when requested to. Ronnie moved to the opposite end, her eyes widening as she caught sight of the still-healing bullet wound on his bicep. She wordlessly asked him if he were okay, to which he responded with a nod, not ready to dive further into what just happened. “What is that?”

Deaton glanced over at Ronnie who started to watch the two intently, an amused twinkle flickering in his eyes before he turned back to Liam. “The bullet Malia bug out of her arm is a different design than yours, as is the poison that laced it.” Ronnie’s heartbeat jumped at his words, but she showed no sign of being afraid, only worried. Liam felt warm, forcing himself to focus on what was being explained to him. “I’m not sure how it would be possible, but I think they are trying to form a poison that werewolves won’t be able to heal from.”

“What?” Liam gasped. He lifted the bullet previously in his bicep, examined it, and just as he was told, there was something wrong about the small piece of silver. It had been modified, created to hold poison but that wasn’t all, the rest he couldn’t see. “Do you know if they succeeded?”

He shook his head. “If they did neither of you would have healed, and the only reason it’s been such a slow process is because of how exhausted you are.” A shocked expression fell over his face, a shot of worry pulsing through Liam until he followed the emissary’s attention.

In Ronnie’s hand was the modified bullet, her bottom lip between her teeth as she manoeuvred the bullet between her fingers, held it up to the light, examining it in ways he had seen Deaton and Mason do countless times. She remained oblivious to the attention she had drawn, just set the bullet back down and moved to her backpack that was left on the counter, not too far from her but enough to be considered progress. The black journal flopped onto the table, her eyes scanning over words and drawings as she flipped through the pages.

She pushed it toward them, the page opened before them full of sketches, sticky notes, and descriptions. None of it made any sense to Liam, minus the clear drawing of the modified bullet on the left page. Deaton must have caught it too because he pulled the journal closer and tapped his finger on the image. “You’ve seen this before?” She nodded, her gaze flickering to Liam who sent her a smile, catching how she relaxed from it.

“These hunters, they seem to trust you.” Deaton said, looking away from the page to catch her response: a simple nod. “And you’ve used this to your advantage, haven’t you?” Another nod. “Do you mind if I move this, just to the counter behind me? I won’t keep it for long, I promise.” She hesitated but nodded once more.

Liam moved to stand closer to her, the wolf silently seeking her comfort as did the human counterpart. “How much have they told you?” He asked, not thinking much about how she would answer without her go-to source. She didn’t have a problem, moved around him to grab his phone that was left forgotten on the plastic chair. It made him smile, seeing how comfortable she continued to be around him despite knowing what he was. Just how much did she know?

 _Too much and not enough_.

He frowned at her response, his next question on the tip of his tongue but she was already typing something else out, unphased by Deaton’s muttering. Liam tried to decipher what he was saying, unable to understand what any of the words meant, barely catching Lydia’s name. That never meant anything good. The phone was back in his hand before he could overthink it.

_They withheld information, only really told me the bad things. I had to figure out the rest on my own. The high school library has a lot of books about the supernatural._

“Why aren’t you scared?” He whispered. If they told her the horror stories of werewolves or any supernatural being, then why wasn’t she running away from him. Why did she remain standing so close, why did she look up at him with so much trust and care, and why did his question make her lips twitch into a smile? She took the phone, her cold hand brushing against his, and typed out her response easily, not even having to think about it when she handed it back.

_If you were really as evil as they said you would have hurt me by now._

“I don’t think werewolves _can_ hurt their anchors, even if they wanted to.”

Ronnie’s brows pulled down, knitted together in an adorable frown, the cause of such thing occurring to him far too late. He opened his mouth to say something, freezing when no words made it to the surface. She knew what anchors were. Why would the hunters tell her that? How would that help convince her of their evil nature? “Wait…” He breathed out, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “You know what anchors are? I mean, of course, you know what an anchor is, everyone does, but to werewolves… I mean… you know?”

“The rogue hunters are known to twist a werewolf’s anchor, turn it into their weakness.” Deaton said. The black journal was returned gently back on the table. “If they decided to tell her about them, that might be what they were planning to do. It’s not all that difficult, they would be able to do it fairly easily given their experience.” Ronnie tilted her head. “You’re rather fascinated by all of this, aren’t you?” She nodded. “Good, this will come in handy.”

“How so?”

Deaton gestured to her journal; a questioning brow raised to which she responded with a nod. He flipped it open, thumbing through the pages till something caught his eye. Liam peered over the table, trying to grab a better look at the sketches and notes covering the page, one that looked to be constantly revisited he noticed. The pages were covered, not an inch of space available, sticky notes placed where there was no more room available, even the sketches had words written within the space.

It was almost hypnotic staring at the page, so easy to get lost in, and if it weren’t for Deaton’s voice, he likely would have fallen into it. “Foster children… they have a habit of catching things, details that others tend to overlook, take for granted. They understand that anything could be important so when something catches their interest, spikes one of their many alarms, they hold on to it, file it away for safekeeping. Some were taught to keep a journal, write down anything concerning, anything that could be used if a court case were to arise from a situation.”

“Is that what you do?” Liam tried to hide how much it hurt him to think of such a thing, that she could have been in a situation where her life was on the line, where she got hurt in more ways than one. When she nodded he almost let a whimper escape. She quickly typed something out on his phone, turning it around so he could read her message.

_Not always, only when I have to._

“Ronnie is far more detailed about things than any foster child I’ve seen.” Deaton continued; his words directed toward Liam as if he weren’t already aware of how unique she was. “She doesn’t skip out on anything, and that will be quite helpful, especially in this case. Her knowledge on the bullet helped me dissect it, get to the poison still inside the syringe.”

He tapped the page the journal was opened to, specifically a drawing of a plant; wolfsbane, Liam recognized. “According to her notes, they’ve been modifying wolfsbane, trying to create a stronger concoction of it, something that could not only slow down and kill a werewolf, but have the same effect on a true alpha. They’ve been unsuccessful so far, but they test on other werewolves, aren’t afraid of crossing a line one could never come back from. It’s only a matter of time before they succeed, and when they do we need to be prepared. Her notes will help tremendously.”

“Who’s notes?”

Scott closed the door gently behind him, leaving the rest of the pack in the other room and moving to join Liam, his hand a reassuring weight on the beta’s shoulder. Deaton greeted the alpha with a nod, Ronnie sending him a smile that never fully reached her eyes, and Liam felt as if he missed something. “It seems your friend is rather skilled when it comes to gathering information.” The emissary said and pushed the journal back toward them, Ronnie somehow comfortable with everyone having access to it, or perhaps it was just them.

“That’s great.” His alpha said and Liam wondered if she felt the same pride swell inside whenever Scott praised them. “If you’re comfortable with that, of course.” He added and Ronnie for once didn’t hesitate to nod along, looking between the three men in the room. “You said they have our friend, Derek Hale. Do you have any notes about that? Anything that might help us find him?”

_The Márquezes never leave it unguarded but I know where it is._

“Do you think you’ll be able to help us come up with a plan to get him out?” Scott asked carefully. The green grew stronger in her eyes, darkening with determination as she nodded her head. “We won’t do it tonight, Lydia and I agreed that everyone needs to recover from tonight. You mentioned they plan on killing him in… two days?” _Yes_. “Okay, we’ll figure it out. For now, everyone is gathering at Lydia’s house to rest. You’re coming to.”

Her eyes widened, heart rate spiking dangerously fast. She shook her head, stepping backwards twice, knees shaking, threatening to give up. Liam jumped over to her, catching her before she could fall, and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her from behind. He looked up at Scott who remained calm, understanding even, as he tried to instruct her to breathe.

“I know you’re scared.” Scott said, his voice gentle and soothing. Liam didn’t let her go, held on tighter when she leaned against his chest, his fingers lightly brushing over her arm. “I know you don’t want anything to happen to us, that these people scare you, which is exactly why we can’t let you go back there. If anything were to happen to you that would be on us, and I know you can’t go to the police, so this is what we _can_ do. They don’t know about Lydia, they won’t expect any of us to be there, it’s the safest place for all of us, including you.”

She wrapped her arms over Liam’s, holding them around her, and he felt as she nodded. It was clear there was no choice in this situation, that Scott would have made her go with them anyways, especially if they thought there was a chance she could get hurt if she went back. Liam didn’t want to admit it, but he felt better knowing she wasn’t leaving, almost as relaxed as he felt having her in his arms. He hesitantly released her as Scott said his farewell to Deaton, the two going over a few things before the alpha waved them to follow him out.

Liam climbed into the jeep with Stiles, Ronnie sitting beside him. She scootched to the middle seat, a bit of distance remaining between the two, but he quickly understood what she needed. He buckled in, moving his hand to the small space between them, opened and welcoming for her. Her fingers didn’t hesitate to entangle with his, holding on as if he were her anchor, as if he were the thing keeping her from floating away. He held on just as tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Language, mentioned injuries, mentioned violence


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings on specific chapters

Ronnie zoned in and out for most of the drive, too far lost in her thoughts to find the strength to pull out. Her head rested on Liam’s shoulder, his hand never straying from hers, a reassuring reminder that she’s okay; she’s safe. They pulled into the driveway, Stiles rambling on about something to do with after college though she wasn’t confident about that, silencing when Scott pulled up beside them, his engine revving in greeting.

She snapped back to reality long enough to move away from the comfort emitting from the boy beside her, hopped out of the jeep and onto the pavement, diving back into her mind immediately after. Her thoughts were too loud, more than they had been as of lately. Considering the day it had been, how it was only 4:30 and her body was already dragging with exhaustion, she had every excuse to be so far gone with zero strength to fight back.

The group —or _pack_ as Scott kept revering to them as— were saying something, though she failed to hear much of what it was, their voices distant and overpowered by the overwhelming noise that was her thoughts. They must have noticed how fatigue was creeping its way through her, slowing her mind and body down into a dangerously lethargic pace, or perhaps Liam mentioned something. Whatever it was, Lydia clapped her hands, the noise startling the girl enough for her eyes to snap over to where they were discussing, and she made her way over, tossing instructions of some kind over her shoulder that the… pack?... didn’t seem all that happy about.

Lydia took Ronnie by the wrist, pulled her away from where she was leaning against the jeep, and up the stairs that led to the house, not giving the younger girl a chance to register anything. She briefly noticed the others gathering up their overnight bags from the trunk of Lydia and Stiles’s cars, something that Ronnie couldn’t remember them going to get which only added to the list of questions forming in her mind.

She recognized the neighbourhood, though it was fairly vague. The Márquezes didn’t live too far, had driven through it a few times on their way back to their estate that had to have been a block or two away. It made something twist inside her, brought the sense of panic back that she forgot on the drive there, reminded her that they weren’t safe, nor would they be despite what the others believed.

According to Scott, there wasn’t much else they could do today, and nowhere they could go that these hunters wouldn’t be able to find them. They had attacked the gro— pack less than an hour before Ronnie arrived at the clinic, they barely managed to get away, and even she could see they were weak and tired. She saw with her own eyes the healing injuries on Malia and Liam, heard how they got the worst out of the… pack, and though they had healed up enough that they weren’t afraid of another attack, Scott wasn’t about to risk any more confrontations, and if these hunters were anything like Ricardo, Ronnie understood far too well.

Bunkering down at Lydia’s house was their best bet, for now at least. It gave them enough time to recoup, rest up, maybe eat something since Stiles complained about his grumbling stomach for the first ten minutes of the drive, possibly longer but Ronnie only fought the noise for so long before she caved, slumping into her seat, and somehow ending up curled up beside Liam, his hand held against her chest as if it were some comfort stuffed animal.

Inside, Lydia’s house was nothing like the Márquez’s. It was the kind of house one assumed a butler would open the door to, large enough for a big family, cooks, maids, and gardeners all to sleep in, and full of furniture that could pay for new clothes and school supplies that Ronnie briefly dreamed of. Regardless, she didn’t feel small or suffocated, wasn’t overwhelmed by everything like she had been the first time she stepped foot in the mansion that the Márquezes called home.

There were aspects that said a family lived there, that a daughter grew up running through the halls and wreaking havoc. Nothing big, more like small and few personal touches here and there, little things that made the house feel more equivalent to what a home was to be like, things the Márquezes didn’t have.

“I’ll have Scott and Malia help me set up the living room for us all to sleep in.” Lydia said, her hand still dragging Ronnie along behind her, into the very room she spoke of. “Kira and Stiles will be in charge of snacks, I’m sure they’ll just end up ordering pizza or something. You like pizza, right?” Ronnie wasn’t given the chance to answer, pulled to sit on the couch beside the senior who looked around with a frown. “Maybe we could play a movie. I’ll have Liam search Netflix for something.”

“Why does Liam get all the fun jobs?” Stiles whined. He stepped in front of their line of sight, dropping the pyramid sleeping bags onto the floor with a huff. “Has to bring in the first aid bag, gets to pick the movie…”

Lydia covered her mouth, muffling a soft laugh that was just loud enough for Ronnie to hear but went unnoticed by Stiles who had begun to glare a hole into one of the sleeping bags. “I wouldn’t say bringing in the first aid is that exciting.” She got to her feet, sending a smile to Ronnie who stayed where she was, not entirely sure what she was meant to do. “Besides, I gave you and Kira snack duty.”

Stiles’s eyes lit up and he started jumping up and down like a puppy. “Oh, I’ll take that. Are you paying or do we have to? It’s your house, of course you’re paying. Is there a limit to what I can get? Does it have to be in the kitchen, or can we order something? Oh, if we can order something, what are the limits to that? Like, do I have to keep it down to one place or can it be multiple different locations? Oh—”

“Don’t make me regret this decision.” Lydia effectively cut him off, her finger pointed toward the kitchen followed by an insistent shoo and push to get him moving. She sent Ronnie a look, one that the younger girl figured she should understand but her head was fuzzy and starting to throb and she couldn’t decipher exactly what it was she was being told. “Kira, please join Stiles in the kitchen before he does something stupid, thank you!”

“You gave Stiles snack duty.” Scott chuckled, already getting to moving around the furniture as if they’d done this plenty of times before. _Or,_ Ronnie’s brain decided to provide, _he heard the jobs she handed out_. That was something she might struggle to get used to, not that it was entirely unpleasant, just strange, even for her. “Was that really the best idea?”

“Probably not but I didn’t know what else to give him, and Kira’s helping. I’m sure she’ll keep him from going too overboard.” Lydia didn’t seem to believe that.

“What do you want me to do?” Liam asked, his voice quiet, almost shy as he looked at the others going through something that seemed normal for them while he stood behind the couch, sad eyes watching as Scott and Malia moved around the furniture with ease. “Or should I just stay over here—”

Lydia cut him off immediately, a stern look washing over her that made Ronnie tense up. “Do _not_ give me any of that.” She stomped over to him, grabbed him by the wrist, and forced him to take a seat beside Ronnie. “You are a part of this pack. Just because you came in late doesn’t mean we don’t need you. Now, you are going to pick something for us to watch unless Scott needs your help setting up, got it? Great. Ronnie, you are more than welcome to lend a hand.”

Ronnie gave a thumbs up, shocked by the tone Lydia used and the power it had over her. She watched, distantly almost, as if she weren’t sitting in the room, looking in from afar as Lydia spoke to Scott and Malia, the two nodding along to whatever she said before she turned on her heels and headed up the stairs.

Everyone fell into a rhythm, working around each other with ease and familiarity, conversing with few words and occasional grunts that had more meaning than Ronnie was aware a sound was capable of having. She got lost watching them, her thoughts quieting more with a constant distraction to keep her from spiralling. There were no dozen questions clouding her vision, no ringing that left a scream itching in her throat, no weight preventing her from taking full breaths. It was pleasant even if she couldn’t focus on anything, even if she still felt lost and distant.

She snapped back when Liam’s hand rested on hers, gently and cautious, as was his gaze as he tried to read her, she wondered if he could. He smiled when she finally looked up at him, one that didn’t reach his eyes that were hazed over with exhaustion, something she was almost sure she mirrored. “You okay?”

His voice was hushed, almost too quiet for her to hear, but she understood the need to whisper. There was some sort of peaceful bubble that surrounded everyone that she certainly wasn’t ready to break. She tried to smile, only unlike him she couldn’t, her body too weak to put on an act that it knew would be unnecessary. It scared her just how comfortable she felt around them, how she wasn’t as skittish or defensive around them, how she didn’t feel the need to pretend she was okay because maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t chastise her for it.

He offered his hand, palm facing the ceiling, and she almost laughed at the familiarity that the action brought. New, yet she felt as if it was quite normal now, and she didn’t hesitate to take him up on the offer, their fingers welcoming the action, reacting as if this were something they were used to despite it only happening thrice now. His smile grew, his eyes twinkling when he returned them to hers. They were so easy to get lost in, and she almost did if it weren’t for Stiles’s loud voice cutting through the atmosphere.

“Pizza will be here in forty minutes!” He threw himself down on the couch, bouncing from the force, oblivious to the glare sent from Malia and Scott. “What are we gonna watch?”

“I was thinking a comedy…” —Liam looked at everyone as if checking that was okay— “It’s been a long day, I just thought that would be better than something action-packed…” His shoulders relaxed when he got a smile and nod from Scott.

“Alright, runt, let’s see what comedies there are.” Stiles said.

* * *

The rest of the night went off fairly easily. Once the pizza arrived the pack found a seat on the floor, crowded around the four boxes of pizza, each with a different topping, and two of breadsticks. A movie played in the background, some silly cartoon that Malia had never seen before which erupted quite the commotion from Stiles who couldn’t comprehend how she hadn’t “watched a classic” before, though no one paid much attention to what was happening on the screen.

They talked between each other, going into pack stories that made Ronnie smile and laugh, sometimes even cringe or frown when they went through the more bittersweet ones. It was nice, peaceful with everyone relaxed for once, and with the empty pizza boxes they slowly migrated to the couch where they melted into the cushions, or in Scott and Kira’s case, curled up on the chair across from them. Eventually, the credits rolled on the screen, something Stiles wasn’t incredibly pleased with, forcing everyone to “shut up and enjoy the movie”, and they did with three bowls of popcorn and red solo cups full of soda or water.

No one once mentioned the reasoning behind the impromptu slumber party, nor the thousands of things they needed to be stressing about. The hunters were still out there, Derek was on death row —literally and in more ways than one— and Ronnie was potentially in more danger than any of them cared to admit. It wasn’t mentioned, and it wasn’t forgotten, but for the night they didn’t worry about it, not even when Mason and Corey arrived to join the mandatory pack slumber party, something Stiles suddenly decided should be an annual thing, maybe even monthly.

For the night they were just kids in high school enjoying the company of their friends, not werewolves fighting a war they never asked to be a part of.

Liam wasn’t sure when he dozed off —his best guess was it was sometime during the third movie— only that he had never been more content, finally relaxed for the first time in… months most likely. He remembered having his feet propped up on Mason’s lap, his head in Ronnie’s, thinking he was awfully grateful to have them by his side for the night, soothing the wolf enough that it stopped the relentless pacing, pleased to be surrounded by its pack, its anchor safe and not going anywhere, her fingers carding through his hair mindlessly.

He didn’t even hear when everyone decided to call it a night, when they cleaned up the mess in Lydia’s living room, when they made their beds on the blow-up mattress that he swore was flat when he fell asleep. For once, he wasn’t too bothered by that. There was no reason to be on edge, no reason to have his senses heightened, no reason to be alert. Lydia and Stiles made sure of that, called the police department before they put on the second movie and updated the sheriff on everything.

Within the hour Parrish was doing a perimeter check, promised to do it as often as he could while working the graveyard shift, even said he would keep an eye on Scott, Malia, and Liam’s houses in case the hunters decided to pay a visit. They could rest easy, didn’t have to constantly be wondering if the pack would all be okay by morning, wouldn’t have to wake up at seven despite it being the weekend to text Scott that they’re okay. One night they could sleep without the constant worry nagging at them, and yet Liam couldn’t seem to do that very thing.

The comforting atmosphere that came from being with his pack should have been enough, only his mind didn’t seem to understand that there was no reason to be afraid, to be on guard. He could breathe easier, didn’t have to look over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure they were all safe. There wouldn’t be any threats, not tonight, but his mind was stuck on repeat, that annoying word _yet_ echoing in his head, disrupting what should have been a restful sleep.

That word poked the wolf whenever it grew too relaxed, aggravated it in a way his IED always did, only this wasn’t some burning beneath his skin that itched to come out. He knew anger better than anyone, and this feeling, it wasn’t it. This was something Stiles would call paranoia, something that smelled so similar to fear except so much stronger, always leaving you prepared for the worst, anticipating the storm long before the calm hit began. Blame it on whatever you want, but Liam knew the patterns enough to know that when he woke it wasn’t going to be to the sun shining.

He knew it was a dream, knew none of it was real, but that didn’t stop his heart rate from spiking. There was blood everywhere, not a single surface untouched, his hands dripping with the thick liquid. Bile rose in his throat, chocked him enough to stop the sob from cutting through the eerie silence. His hands shook as his surroundings blurred, his vision spotty but somehow he knew where he was, exactly where to go.

It wasn’t anything new, the nightmare one he became all too familiar with. He saw it every night recently, shortly after the fight with the berserkers, yet it only got worse as time grew on. The fight in the preserve didn’t help, the sight of Malia bleeding, of her blood on Scott’s hands one he wasn’t going to forget anytime soon. He tried, he really did, but it came back in his sleep, only instead of the werecoyote’s blood, Scott was covered in his own, as were the others.

There was a hand wrapped around his neck, holding him above the ground, his feet kicking, desperately trying to touch the ground to no avail. He tried to pry off the phantom hand, claws replacing blunt human nails that only managed to cut his own skin, blood trickling down his neck in drops at first but soon gushing out of a mysterious wound. It hurt, whatever it was, almost caused him to cry out but no noise came out, none that could. His vision worsened, oxygen cut off long enough that he should have passed out by now, but he remained conscious.

The dream ended the same way every time, with Liam being dropped to the cold concrete floor, his vision coming back long enough to see the assailant walking away unscathed, and as his eyes rolled into the back of his head he sprung up in his bed, drenched in sweat, terrified, alone, unable to focus on anything but the chill that brushed his damp skin.

This time was different. When he sprung up it wasn’t to his own bed, his claws weren’t buried in his arm or sheets, but a cushion that likely cost more than he is worth, and he wasn’t alone. His pack surrounded him, none of them awake much to his relief, and he was able to focus on something. someone.

Ronnie was sitting up on the couch, her eyes locked on him, full of concern that he didn’t deserve, but she was there, and she was safe. He instinctively moved away from her, claws tearing at the couch, the sound causing him to tense but going unnoticed by her. She didn’t move, didn’t react, just watched him with caution, the smell of fear overwhelming, not just from him, but her too. It didn’t occur to him at that moment, something he would rethink in the morning when his mind was clear, but she seemed sickly pale, eyes hazed over and a dim shade of grey.

Her eyes flickered toward his hands and he tensed up, waiting for that inevitable flash of terror that he couldn’t bear to think of, only she didn’t react that way at all. She frowned, arms unwrapping from the tight hold they had on herself, and she rested one hand atop his, gently at first, barely brushing his skin, but the cold touch was enough to bring him further out of the dream.

He vaguely wondered if his eyes were flaring when she pried his claws out of the couch, his claws retracting out of fear that he may hurt her. Not once did she react in any way, acting as if this was the most normal thing for them, only it wasn’t. She never saw his claws, never had to see him terrified, only briefly saw what he was like when he was angry, and in some ways, this was worse. There was no control, not like this, and while he wanted nothing more than to put as much distance between them as he could, the wolf craved to be closer, to lean into her touch and demand more.

She started to move away, a shot of panic shaking him out of his internal battle, and before he could think over his action he grabbed her wrist, stopping her from going anywhere. There was a minor flinch, nothing he’d never seen before, only this was his fault, and a sickening feeling overcame him. He pulled his hand away as if burned by her touch, or maybe his own, holding back his hand as if it were going to act without his consent again.

Ronnie settled back onto the couch, offered her hand in a gesture becoming familiar and comforting, something that he understood as “we’re okay” and “I’m here”. The journal was in her other hand, a pencil tucked between her index finger and the cover, and he would have released the vice grip he had on her right hand if she weren’t holding back with similar strength. He should have, especially when he registered that she was right-handed, but she situated the journal on her lap, held the pencil in her left hand, and started to write with no complaints, so he didn’t.

_Do you want to talk about it?_

It was weird how those words are what helped him take a breath, shaky and more equivalent to a muffled sob barely caught in his hand before it could wake up the pack, but necessary all the same. She never batted an eye, just watched, waiting patiently for an answer he wasn’t sure how to give, nor did he entirely know the answer to.

He wasn’t sure how to explain what these nightmares were, could hardly understand what they were about himself, but she was there and watching him with so much care and concern that he would never deserve, so he put on a smile, silently asked for the journal, and tried to write his response.

_Just a bad dream. It’s nothing._

There was a flicker of something, what exactly he couldn’t tell, but her lips drooped into a frown. Her eyes moved from the shaky words scribbled on the page back to him as if she were trying to piece something together. Perhaps she was. She ran her free hand through her hair, brushed it out of her face, and for a moment Liam noticed the cold sweat on her forehead. He was about to ask her about it when a groan came in the room, Stiles moving around in his sleep, the noise enough to startle him in his paranoid state.

“We should probably go back to sleep.” He whispered, eyes darting everywhere that wasn’t her.

Liam didn’t wait to see what she would do, moved off the couch to grab one of the spare blankets draped over the chair. Ronnie watched his every move, weary eyes waiting to see what he was doing, and he almost felt comforted knowing she saw him, something he was far too tired to think of or try to understand. She stayed in her spot, legs curled underneath her, one arm wrapped a bit too tight around herself while the other rested on her thigh, and he took the space on the opposite end, throwing the blanket over himself and trying to get it to cover her legs.

The blanket was large enough to share, the couch not as big compared to the other furniture the Martin’s had, but Ronnie had a habit of making herself small. Liam should have noticed sooner, seen the way she always shrinks whenever uncomfortable, how her heartbeat sounded too faint for him to catch without straining, how she held her breath. It made his blood run cold, the wolf jolting awake and continuing the pacing, hopelessly searching for that soothing rhythm he mesmerized but failed to find.

He scootched closer to the back of the couch, moulding into the cushions, and opened the blanket, hesitantly gesturing for her to come over. She saw it, that much was clear from the way her head tilted to the side, confusion written all over her face, but something else. Something that, though he didn’t want to admit it, he’d seen before.

It felt like a while ago now, though it had to have been about three months since Scott first introduced her to the pack, a time that went by far too quickly. The look was one she gave them constantly for the smallest things: joining them for lunch, hanging out after practise, even just walking with them in the halls. He wasn’t sure when he understood it was so much more than confusion, when it turned from a cute quizzical look to uncertainty and doubt.

She wrapped her arms around herself tight, watched his every move as if she expected him to bare his fangs and bite her, not making a single move or expression that gave him an answer. It shouldn’t have hurt to see how she looked at him as if she couldn’t understand why anyone would suggest something like that, even more so when he realized it was likely a personal issue, nothing to do with him. He tried not to make it known that he suspected anything, gave the cushion a goofy pat and cocked his head, urging her to come over.

“This will be easier.” He said when she remained frozen, relaxing at the recognition that flickered in her eyes, the green coming back slowly. “You can think of it as nightmare control. It will help me sleep better if I know you’re okay.”

Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, maybe he took it a step too far, maybe he should have kept that to himself, maybe he was overthinking this and she really just didn’t want to lay next to him on the couch where there was hardly enough room as is. He was about to say something, tell her to forget about it, anything that could get that hurt expression to go away, but then she moved.

They were small steps, her bare feet soundless against the hardwood floor even when he used his werewolf hearing, focusing on her steps. She stopped in front of his side of the couch, eyed him carefully once more, giving him the chance to say “sike” or whatever it was he might have been stupid enough to stay. He kept his mouth shut, eyed the space beside him instead, hoping that she understood what he was trying to tell her.

The couch dipped when she placed her knee on it, slowly easing her way onto the cushions and beside him, her cold skin not unpleasant against his overheated body. He let her figure out how she was comfortable, kept his arms to his side while she made herself small beneath the blanket. Her breath fanned against his neck, a gentle sigh that told him she was somewhat comfortable. Slowly, he laid his arms down, one hovering on her waist, the gesture feeling oddly intimate.

“Is this okay?” He wasn’t sure if she heard him, his voice too quiet for even himself to catch, and if the two weren’t so close perhaps she wouldn’t have. She gave a nod, moved a tad closer, their chests almost touching, brushing against each other with each breath. His arm relaxed over her, another content sigh escaping her lips, and he revelled in the way she nuzzled closer. _Warmth_ he realized. The wolf in him was always hot, his body no better, and she felt like ice to the touch. That made more sense than her _wanting_ to be closer.

“Good night, Ron.” He breathed out, something he believed would have been a hum coming from her, and quickly he felt himself drifting off to sleep, his body relaxed and at ease with his anchor in his arms, safe and protected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Language, violence, minor vivid nightmares


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings on specific chapters

Ronnie didn’t like this plan. Not one bit. For one, it was too dangerous, with everything they didn’t know to what could easily go wrong if just one thing falls out of place, not to mention the fact that none of them, the _pack?_ with bright red targets on their back least of all, knew what they were walking in to. She did what she could, prepared them with the notes she had on specific hunter behaviours, the little details about the warehouse she collected, and when the patrols switched out, their best chance of getting in and out without causing a fight.

Even so, she didn’t know enough. No one let her explore, told her it was too dangerous, that the fire rendering the warehouse inoperative —and therefore, shortly after, abandoned— had left far too much that could easily harm her if she were to wander. The few times she managed to slip away she was too busy trying to ensure Mr Hale would survive another night, though it wasn’t looking too good the last time she saw him. She remembered his words, his voice hoarse and laced with exhaustion: _“It’s gonna take a lot more than juiced up wolfsbane to kill me.”_ If it weren’t for the way his eyes glazed over, she might have believed him.

The… pack —a word she would have to get used to sooner rather than later with how often they all refer to themselves as it— seemed quite anxious, the reason behind she didn’t entirely know, assuming it had to do with their friend being in danger. Stiles insisted Mr Hale was some kind of cockroach, impossible to kill and always coming back. He was trying to calm himself down, she quickly realized, and if the way he was driving was any indication of the state of his emotions, it didn’t do the trick.

Scott focused on trying to ensure everyone would stay safe, that if things were to go south —not that he admitted they would, but it was implied, and Ronnie can read between the lines, the worried frown, the way he flinched before changing his wording into something more positive— no one would get hurt. He almost had Liam and Ronnie staying behind with Mason and Corey, the later in no mood to argue, nor ready to throw themselves into a dangerous situation when their human abilities wouldn’t do shit to help them. Ronnie, however, wasn’t about to sit on the sidelines while her newfound friends put themselves in danger when she could help.

She was quick to pull out the “none of you know where he’s being held hostage” card, Liam nearly attacked Scott when it was suggested just he stay, and the argument was put to an end before it could begin. Scott clearly wasn’t pleased with the idea, and thirteen minutes later they got quite the speech about doing as he says and not putting themselves into any unnecessary danger, something he quickly added when he noticed the look on Stiles’s face, pointing a stern finger at his _human_ best friend.

When compared to the state of the others, Malia was doing the best. The werecoyote —who unashamedly admitted to what she was— had taken up the task of informing Ronnie of everything, from what they were to what they were capable of, and she eagerly took in every ounce of information she was given. She never flinched the way the others did, Lydia seeming to be doing the worst, a banshee quality according to Malia who quickly explained that she could predict someone’s death.

If anything, Malia acted amused, sitting on the counter in Lydia’s house and swinging her legs while she gnawed on a popsicle that was forcefully shoved into her hands by Stiles after a particular comment: _“If he’s anything like Peter, he’ll be fine.”_ It got a few laughs from the others, a soft grin from Scott, but Lydia’s eyes grew twice their already bulging size. Ronnie didn’t understand, even less when Liam and Mason attempted to explain it which ended with the two arguing over each other till Corey had to break them up.

Her nerves didn’t calm during the ride there, not even with Liam’s hand never straying far from hers, only parting long enough for them to get into Stiles’s jeep and buckle their seats. It was something that seemed to help calm him, his grip tightening whenever he got too far in his head, loosening when she would start to draw mindlessly on his palm, his wrist, even his arm, anything to erase that lost, hollow look in his eyes.

She tried not to think much of it, tried not to wonder what it was that night that had woken him up, how he clearly never fell asleep —she didn’t either, too unnerved by just how relaxed she was in his vice grip around her— or the way he snatched her hand before she could give him any bit of space. The couple arguing in the front seat was a nice distraction, with Stiles certain they were going the right way and Malia doubting his navigation skills, but once the building came into view, the _“told you so”_ comment made by Stiles wasn’t enough to prevent the way Ronnie’s entire body shrank into the seat.

The charred walls were even more frightening with the rising sun casting an eerie glow, the shadows stretching along one side of it creating an almost haunted look. She didn’t hesitate to step onto the sidewalk this time, her mind falling into a trancelike state, anything to get her inside to check on the man chained in a cage as if he were a beast, though she supposed in some ways he was, the way his eyes flared an icy blue being one of them. It couldn’t be said the same for the others, each of them sharing a similarly wide, horror-filled look in their eyes that she was convinced had been her reaction when she first laid eyes on it.

For the most part, it all went according to plan. They got in without a problem, taking advantage of the tired hunters leaving their post early in hopes of catching a few hours of sleep before the event that afternoon. The next shift wouldn’t be in for another half hour, and so Ronnie led them down to the makeshift prison, legs moving on their own, her mind having to remind her that she didn’t need to disappear into the shadows this time. That didn’t stop the way she shallowed her breathing and slowed her heartrate, her footsteps becoming lighter with each step she took until she moved like a ghost.

Mr Hale looked worse than when she left, but he was alive which elicited a breath of relief from Ronnie. The colour on his face was almost completely drained, leaving him a deathly pale shade that the sickening yellow wolfsbane stood out loudly on, his veins mirroring the stains across his chest. His blood was a nasty mix of black and red, a tinge of brown in the mix that sat at the corner of his lip, clung to the slashes across his chest that had yet to heal despite his constant assurance that it would, he just needed time and rest. He clearly got none if the dark circles pulling his eyes down said anything.

She failed to notice the way Scott and Stiles ran over to them, the two working together to get him out of the chains, only that they moved his wrists to be higher, too far above his head for him to be comfortably sitting. Her eyes eventually focused on the two boys fretting over him, drawn in by the way black veins ran up Scott’s arm, disappearing under his t-shirt, how he grimaced with each heavy breath. He was taking Mr Hale’s pain, she realized, and her intrigue only grew more as she watched, forcing herself to look away to avoid the way Scott was clearly feeling what Mr Hale did so well to hide.

Liam had abandoned her side in favour of an object that called his attention, now bent over the broken glass vile, his fingers ghosting over it as if he were tempted to touch it. Her eyes widened once she caught sight of the yellow shade, how close he was to touching that very thing, and reacted before she could think twice of it. The glass nicked her hand, the poison burning her skin uncomfortably, but she grabbed his wrist and pulled him away, stepping between him and what she knew would terribly hurt him, far worse than a minor burn against her knuckles.

“What?” He asked, worry lacing his tone, eyes tracing her as if he would see the answer written somewhere, or perhaps he was looking for something else. Whatever it was, she didn’t care to find out, and gave him a forceful shove away from the vile, praying that was enough of an answer for him to understand.

“Ronnie’s trying to save you.” Mr Hale croaked out, his voice sounding hoarse and pained, clearly underused. The two rarely talked when she visited, a few things here and there, but always whispered as if he were afraid someone would be listening. Guilt swirled inside her as she looked back toward him, saw the way his eyes threatened to roll back, how he struggled to hold his head up. She should have acted sooner, she knew that, should have gotten him out the day she found him, consequences be damned. “The wolfsbane is modified and burns like a mother fucker.”

His eyes widened, snapping over to her once more and she saw the way his jaw clenched when he spotted her knuckles. She quickly moved it out of reach, afraid of what Liam might do, his fingers clearly itching to do something that she knew would result in him getting hurt. Malia drew their attention, piping in from where she appeared, coming out of the dark corner that she had been searching in. “You two know each other?” Her eyes stilled glowed a hypnotic shade of blue that put off enough light that, with her apparent night vision, helped her see clearly.

Mr Hale didn’t seem surprised to see her emerging from the shadows, unlike Stiles who acted awfully startled. “Who do you think gave her the tip?” He swallowed hard, holding back a cough that would likely be filled with blood, and Ronnie almost ran over to check him then and there, only stopping because Scott clearly caught on, his hand resting firmly on Mr Hale’s shoulder. “She figured out the rest, all I did was point her in the right direction.

He couldn’t hold it back that time, bending over to cough into his hand, his body tensing up with pain that Scott once more tried to take, patting his back with his free hand. Everyone flinched back when the blood dripping between his fingers hit the floor, the noise deafeningly loud to human ears. Mr Hale shook it off, just like he always did whenever Ronnie moved to help him in any way, but unlike her, the others listened. “If she doesn’t want you touching something, it might be best you listen, unless you want to end up like this.” His cleaner hand gestured to himself, specifically the gnarly slashes across his chest that Ronnie just now focused on.

 _Shit!_ She gave one last look to Liam, double-checked to make sure he wasn’t planning on doing something stupid, and moved to Mr Hale, finding her usual spot on the floor, knees tucked under her just as she had done far too often now. He didn’t fight her this time as she lifted his head with one hand, the other brushing across the bruised skin around one very nasty cut, only a low growl and flared eyes that she ignored.

This wasn’t something new. She visited Mr Hale enough times to know that he wasn’t going to do anything. Even if he wasn’t chained —which he no longer was thanks to Stiles who managed to find a key left recklessly atop a table in a dark section of the room— he was far too weak to hold up his own head let alone fight. The eyes and growl were as far as he could go in his state, and that certainly wasn’t enough to deter her from doing what she could, even if it were minimal.

She pressed lightly, grimacing as puss oozed out, the colour and sight nauseating. There were a few gags behind her, one she knew belonged to Stiles who abandoned Mr Hale’s side that same moment, the other two she thought might have belonged to Kira and Malia. Mr Hale grumbled something, his voice cutting off when she pressed her cold hand against his burning chest. _Fever_ she noted, tempted to check his forehead just to make sure but past experiences told her otherwise, and the sweat littering his skin confirmed her suspicions.

The poison the Márquezes were formulating and testing on Mr Hale wasn’t close to done, the desired effects still far out of reach, but the damage it was doing was enough that she knew they weren’t as far as she wished. At this rate, she doubted that, under normal circumstances, a mere turned werewolf couldn’t possibly survive the final product, and Mr Hale was just lucky he was both a born wolf, and stronger than the others she witnessed being used as test subjects.

Mr Hale should have died by now, the lack of food and water enough to weaken him, and if it weren’t for Ronnie, the untreated wounds and poison would have pushed him over the edge. He wasn’t easy to kill, she knew now Malia was right about that one, but right now that was a blessing and a curse. The damage could be permanent, and with the doses she watched Ricardo pump into him she feared that getting it out of his system would be near impossible, even with Dr Deaton’s help, druid or not.

He was a grumpy man, but Ronnie couldn’t see why anyone would believe he deserved to die, or maybe that was some optimistic, naively hopeful side of her that she thought she’d buried long ago. She wasn’t so sure now.

“Is something wrong?” Scott asked, unmoving from his position beside his friend, eyes watching Ronnie attentively. His voice sounded so soft and caring, laced with such minor fear that unless you were familiar with the emotion, would have gone unnoticed.

Ronnie wasn’t sure how to beat around the bush, not when it came to things like this. She may have experience in dealing with the sick and dying, may have nursed several people —people she once considered to be close to— to their graves, but when it came to delivering that kind of news, it wasn’t something she could do. It was even harder when writing took away the power of delivering such a dark message with a gentle tone.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to. “Doubt it.” Mr Hale mumbled, unphased by the reaction from the… pack. She vaguely wondered if he was considered apart of it, thought to ask if they all made it out of there before anyone showed up. They didn’t have much time, less if she was counting correctly, and so far it wasn’t looking too good. “The last time she had that look, I almost didn’t make it through the night.”

“What?” Stiles yelped, startling most who occupied the room, earning a sharp smack from Lydia who remained far more on edge. She didn’t look very present other than the halfhearted glare sent toward the human, though even that looked forced. Ronnie wasn’t sure she liked seeing that look on the banshee, supposed predictor of death’s face. “How long has she known about this?” He sounded appalled, but his tone faltered when he shouted, “And what do you mean ‘almost didn’t make it’?”

“Relax, Stiles.” Mr Hale huffed, growling as Ronnie did her best to clean his wounds with her sleeve. He raised a brow at her action, though she pretended to ignore the clearly amused expression dancing across his features. “You do realize that’s unsanitary, right?” If she made sure to apply a bit of unnecessary pressure against a particular bruised area, he only growled a bit louder and sent an ungrateful scowl down at her.

“A few days.” He said, glancing back up at the others, minus Scott who had left to go find a proper medical kit. “She followed three of them into here and started to sneak in whenever she had the chance. I mentioned Deaton’s clinic, said that if she really wanted to do something about it that was where to go.”

Kira, who still refused to look anywhere in their direction since Ronnie kneeled in front of him, focused on a dark, likely blood-stained spot on the wall above them. “How did you know she wouldn’t tell the hunters?”

He chuckled, even his laughter sounding minorly pissed off. Ronnie decided to pity him, easing off the added pressure. Surely he got whatever point she was trying to prove. “Look at her and tell me there is anything evil about her. Dark, yeah, definitely. She’s a product of the foster system, I’d expect nothing less, but she reeks of fear and caring.” The others all must have agreed but all Ronnie could do was stare at him, confused how he even knew that. “Besides, I saw her in the crowd when they first dragged me out for ‘show and tell’ or whatever it was. She was the only one there who looked as if she were about to be sick. I’m honestly surprised she didn’t.”

She did, not that it was an important detail or anything she wanted the others to know about, especially after the effort she put in to hold it back until they returned to the Márquez’s house. The next day she felt as if she were hungover and her request to not attend school was an honest one, all too quickly turned into something she wasn’t even slightly ashamed to admit she took advantage of. It wasn’t particularly her fault; everything just fell into place.

The same, sadly, couldn’t be said about the plan. She did what she could for Mr Hale’s wounds, used the few scraps that Scott managed to collect, but by the time he returned she knew their thirty minutes were too close to over, not surprised in the slightest when he admitted to spotting a few cars pulling into the lot. They heard it, especially the roaring engine of a particular motorcycle Ronnie was all too familiar with. Scott’s confirmation made it seem real.

Ricardo’s voice travelled down the halls, echoed in the warehouse in a way she knew well, the rage lacing his tone forcing her to freeze where she stood. The others continued to walk ahead, oblivious to the way her body reacted to the fear pulsing through her veins, and when Liam glanced behind, moving away from the exit, from safety, to go back to her, she felt that nauseating feeling twist in her stomach.

He couldn’t have been that far, not with how clearly she heard him. She glanced over her shoulder, back toward where she knows he always comes from when he goes to visit his “pets” as he has too often referred to them as. Her heart rate picked up, unable to control it the way she was usually so skilled in, and her hand shook as Liam took it in his, his eyes worried, studying her in a way she had done so many times upon entering a new house. A way that told her what to expect from them, what their next move may be, and from the way his eyes widened, she feared he may have been able to read her clearly.

There was no way of knowing it could work, not when she knew so little about werewolves, but she had to try. She knew how stupid and reckless it was, and when she avoided Liam’s gaze she had no doubt she confirmed what he already suspected. Her eyes met Malia; the one Ronnie learned would be willing to do anything to protect her pack despite how much she claims to not care and hoped that she might be able to understand whatever it was she portrayed through her eyes. The nod she got was enough, the last push she needed to react.

Malia caught Liam’s arm just before he could register what was going on, his mouth opening to say something, but she tugged him away, forcing him to stumble backwards just as Ronnie spun on her heel, disappearing into the dark, muting herself the way she always did at times when her fear became too much. Only, instead of terror controlling her every move, she felt oddly calm as she watched the others slowly come to terms with the fact that she was gone, and Malia ushered them all out.

“Just, trust me on this.” She snapped, giving a rather harsh shove to Liam who tried to fight against her grip to no avail. Her eyes trailed over the shadows and only then did Ronnie know they couldn’t see or hear her either, that she truly was invisible in whatever sense that was, and with that she turned down the hall, making her way silently toward where the booming voice that sent shivers down her spine was coming from.

It was too easy to fall back into the role of the stubborn delinquent. To act like the disobedient little miscreant so many told her she was. She stumbled right into their path, her heart beating slow and quiet, refusing to give away her true fear that lied beneath the act she put on well. Ricardo flinched back, eyes narrowing on her, uncaring of the way she skimmed her hand against the cold, harsh concrete, cutting it on a nail she may or may not have noticed before the dramatic trip. And when his lips curled up, that dark look consuming his eyes, she knew she’d done her job well enough, just hoped Malia would manage the other end.

He didn’t hesitate to fall into it either, grabbed her by the arm he knew held a tender scar, pulled her to her feet and close enough that she felt his hot breath against her face. “Well, well, well,” His sneer was typical, something she knew all who craved that same violence as he possessed, had seen it enough times in her life to know what was to follow, and for once she didn’t flinch at the thought. Her eyes twinkled with defiance. “If it isn’t our dear, lil’, miss, Ronda.”

She raised her head high, knew it would spark that something inside him, held back the flinch when it did. He didn’t spare a glance toward the man by his side or Mr Márquez who now cowered in his shadow, nor did Ronnie. Their eyes were locked, and she wondered if Ricardo would ever catch on or if he would just fall prey to the spite boiling inside her. It came as no shock when he did just that, when he cupped her chin with his other hand, forced it to the side in an act of submission that she fought against, not enough to cause her any unnecessary pain, but enough to add fuel to the fire.

“It seems like your little day off has given you a spark of confidence.” He growled, low and animalistic, easily putting the “real monsters” he so often claimed those werewolves were to shame with how he seethed. She fully expected him to bare his teeth and snarl the way she’d witnessed a drunk do moments before their hand came down on her or closed around her throat. “Tell me, lil’ sis, where did you run off to?”

“Better question.” The man to his left said, slightly flinching when Ricardo’s eyes snapped to him. “What is she doing _here_ of all places?”

That was enough to trigger the rational side of Ricardo, bring back whatever sense he had left, and his grip around her arm tightened. She kept any reaction hidden, didn’t show any sign of pain at how his nails dug into her skin, tearing it until blood dripped down her arm. Her self-inflicted wounds were always caused by her overwhelming fear, enough to make that action numb, but she wasn’t afraid as she stared into the eyes of a man she knew to be a killer, only resistance.

“ _What_ ,” —he pulled her closer, her head quickly moving to the side so the venom he spat would hit her cheek— “have you _done_.” She smiled, something that one could easily view as equally as menacing, but she was always the kid who liked playing with fire, and right now she didn’t fear what burns it would inflict. Her concerns were too focused on the pack she secretly swore not to let Ricardo, or any of his _goons_ , lay a hand on.

Whatever happened to her wouldn’t matter at the end of the day. A lost foster girl, too young and weak to care for herself, winds up in a house not fit for kids, with a man who will get away with whatever crimes he does. Another story with the same ending, another day where the system failed them, another promise to do better only for the same tale to repeat in the near future. That was always how she knew she’d end, so why fight it? If it was for a good cause, for people she grew to care about, wasn’t it worth it?

Everything after that was a painful blur, one that she wasn’t about to recall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Language, violence


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for warnings on a specific chapter

Ricardo threw her down as he let out something that could only be described as a demonic roar, and she hit the ground with a bounce. Her hands cut up more and she scraped her knees, tearing her jeans in the process. She kept herself low, acted as if she were a predator, that this was just another drill on what to do if someone gets angry with you. They were always meant to be silly, just a group of teens making fun of their experiences with drunken adults, but now they were proving to come in handy. The man —if he could even be called that— paid her no attention as he acted out his frustration on the nearest object, the large metal landing a few inches from her.

She didn’t react, laid perfectly still until she could tell his episode had passed, then slowly unravelled herself. There wasn’t going to be any avoiding of a punishment, not when she quickly took the blame for Mr Hale’s disappearance. It was for the best, she told herself. If Ricardo even suspected that anyone she knew was a part of it she feared what he might do to them. Her mind travelled back to the sight of literal blood on his hands, to the look of pleasure in his eyes, how he craved _more_ pain, _more_ death. Just _more_ and she couldn’t let anyone she cared about be on the other end of that.

He pointed a shaking finger toward her, his entire body vibrating with his rage as he reached for her, caught her by her short hair and puller her up until she was standing on her toes, eyes squeezed shut to prevent any tears from falling. “You,” His voice hardly sounded human, the harsh, maniac laugh no better, but she didn’t feel any fear. Couldn’t when she knew she had to poke every button she knew he had to ensure they all got away. What came of her didn’t matter anymore.

“I need to think on this one.” Ricardo laughed, his eyes crazed as he looked everywhere in the room, and when he looked at her she got caught in his gaze, unable to look away despite the crawling sensation going up her spine. “It won’t be as much fun since you don’t scream, but I think I can find a way…” He snapped his fingers as if he were thinking. “I can find a way to make you crack, to make you _beg_. Yeah, that’s what I’m going to do. After all, I promised our guests they’d get a show, I’d be a terrible host if I didn’t deliver.”

Mrs Márquez entered the room, a startled gasp breaking through the growing silence, and she cupped her hand over her mouth. “Ricardo!” She rushed into the room, stood by his side, her eyes never once looking over Ronnie. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear the news.” He loosened his grip on her hair, letting Ronnie touch her feet to the ground but she stared back at him with defiance, refused to succumb with fear the way he clearly desired. “We have a new star for tonight, and I think everyone will be more than pleased when they see how she trembles.” His face lowered toward her, another sickening smile tugging his lips up. “Don’t you agree?”

Ronnie was too tempted to shake her head, and if she could have she would have spat “no” in his crazed face, but she did neither. She kept her head high, locked her eyes with his, and irked him on by simply being. He hated it, she could see how much he hated it, and if there was a small part of her that revelled in seeing his jaw clench, seeing the way his anger boiled, then she kept that to herself, used it to her advantage. After all, there was no rule that she wasn’t allowed to enjoy her last few moments.

“Is this necessary?” Mr Márquez pitched in, his voice shaking as he spoke sounding far weaker than he ever gave the impression of being.

She understood, saw it when she watched the way the light in Ricardo’s eyes dimmed until he appeared almost lifeless, how he snapped his head to glower at the man who raised him. It was something she imagined would be in a horror film, the way his body moved, fist releasing Ronnie with a shove that left her stumbling into the drying blood where Mr Hale once sat, slithering his way toward Mr Márquez who took a cowering step to each one Ricardo took. How his hand snapped up, wrapping around the older man’s neck, pushing him against the wall, and all Mrs Márquez did was squeak.

“Would you like to take her place, Alvaro?” Ricardo hissed, daring the man to say yes, though all he did was shake his head. “Good. I’d hate to make Marcella a widow, wouldn’t you?” Mr Márquez nodded. “Well, I’m glad we can agree on this.” He pushed away, the wall cracking from the force, and Mr Márquez fell to the ground gasping for air. Ronnie hardly thought he was held for that long, but when the grip returned to her arm she realized he wasn’t gasping because of how long he was without oxygen; it was because of the force around his neck.

“Now,” Ricardo hummed, tracing an all too delicate finger across her jaw where a bruise began to form. “We should get you cleaned up. I’d prefer that all blood on you be your own, though I know a few who might say otherwise. They don’t have a say on this one, though.”

“Ricardo!” Mrs Márquez screamed, effectively grabbing his attention. She looked annoyed, likely because she had been trying to get him to notice her since he released her husband, but the man was all too busy thinking over ways to torment Ronnie —something she not so secretly was becoming eager to learn more of, especially after his promise to make her _scream_ which she doubted, but the attempt might be entertaining enough. “We have a problem you might want to look into first.”

That made Ronnie’s blood run cold. The fear returned all too quickly, taking form in pulsing waves of pain that caused her to flinch, the movement drawing everyone’s attention toward her. She swallowed back the rising bile, met Ricardo’s eyes, and refused to admit to the way her knees quaked at the amusement and intrigue flickering in his eyes, or how his lips curled up into that menacing smirk. “Well, well, well.” He hummed, followed by a startling laugh. “How about we check out this little ‘problem’, shall we, lil sis?”

He didn’t let her decide, wasn’t going to, just pulled her down the hall and off into the darker parts where she was strictly informed to stay clear of. She doubted it was truly just for her safety the moment they spun the lie, but she didn’t bother disobeying, not when she needed them to believe she was on their side, aware of her hesitance or not. It became clearer now as Mrs Márquez scurried ahead of them, leading the way through the shadows, that there was nothing dangerous about this section, only more secrets they weren’t ready for her to know, or never wanted her to know.

Immediately, her eyes were drawn to the collection of guns and knives that decorated the wall as if it were art, showcased for anyone to see like the prized possessions they honestly believed them to be. She wondered if the knives were still sharpened, if the guns had any bullets in them, or if they really were just for show and tell. The question wasn’t going to be voiced, not when she needed them to think she was just a reckless coward with a mutinous streak.

Her part to play was fairly easy; show her true colours. So, when Ricardo shoved her into a chair with a pointed look, told her it would be wise to stay put, she held back her instinct to rebel. Not yet, especially as she caught sight of the monitors covering the short wall. They were set up as if to be used for security purposes, two swivel chairs in front of them, and an overly complicated console with one too many switches and buttons. She hid her curiosity, kept the knowledge that there were no security cameras anywhere or motion sensor anything, and kept her eyes on Ricardo.

It was hard to ignore the way her gut screamed, begging for her to stop them from whatever it was they were doing, but there wasn’t anything she could do. She was just as powerless as the world believed her to be, and there was no way to fight back this time. Too much was at stake, _lives_ were at stake, and it made her heart race. The pace only sped up as everything became a little bit clearer, the _why_ clicking quickly, and the feeling erupted in her. It wasn’t just mere fear or panic; it was dread.

The dormant side of her —one that she had gotten so accustomed to shutting out, safer for everyone around— awakened at the news of a threat, lashing out in the dark cell she’d thrown it in to so long ago. No one would even bat an eye if she moved slow enough with how close to the wall of weapons she was, but she thought twice of it. Violence was the easiest route to take, always was the answer she went to when she came back with none. They didn’t know of that side of her, knew little of what she was capable of outside of the basic self-defence moves they insisted she learn, and she didn’t want them knowing more than that for now.

 _Not again,_ she sharply told herself. Her hand fell atop the convenient stapler that sat on the table to her right, opting for that over what she saw as the obvious solution.

She was on her feet before the screens flickered on.

There was something about destruction, something so undeniably satisfying, something that you know better than to want but couldn’t deny that it wasn’t beyond tempting, something that Ronnie always felt rather drawn to. The way it would start small, a slight crack in the ground, a chip in the glass that so quickly spiralled out of control. It was mystifying in a sense, so easy to get lost in what could only be described as uncontrolled chaos, beautifully terrifying in so many ways.

The glass cracked, small at first, more like a minor chip, a scratch that spiderwebbed out from where the stapler impacted. She didn’t flinch as the stapler bounced off the screen, headed right toward the man beside Mrs Márquez who barely moved out of the way before it stapled the concrete floor. Her eyes remained focused on Ricardo, the man now looking at her with a look in his eyes that screamed how badly he craved to have her blood staining his hands, and it wasn’t that look that terrified her, it was how well she understood what that sliver in them meant.

He kept his eyes on her as he moved toward the cracked screen, dug his nail beneath the slightly lifted glass, the shard digging into his finger, his blood dripping down it, but he pulled it free and held it in the palm of his hand. “Aren’t you something.” His voice was threateningly low, eyes dangerously dark. The shard danced between his fingers, the edges slicing his skin as he moved fiddled with it. She saw it coming, noted the way his eyes darkened the way they always do before he goes in for an attack, and lifted her hand just in time for the shard to lodge itself into her arm, barely blocking it from his desired destination: her neck.

She winced, water pricking her eyes as she glanced down to study how deep it was. It wasn’t due to the pain, but the low growl that announced just how displeased Ricardo was. The force he threw it at would have been enough to kill her had she not reacted, she knew that, and maybe she wasn’t trying to survive the way she should be, but her instincts always had a rather one-track mind: survive.

“Now,” Ricardo hummed thoughtfully, the evidence of his anger in his tone. “I’m starting to think I should just kill you now. Save us all the trouble.”

Mrs Márquez squeaked behind him, jumping to his side, her hand ready to stop him from doing anything, but even with the act she put on so well, Ronnie could see the way she shook. “We need her alive.”

Ricardo laughed, “No, we don’t.” without even looking to see what the older woman might have been talking about, his eyes homed in on her. Ronnie allowed herself a moment to be relieved, took a breath as her eyes flickered back to the screens, held back the flinch at the sight of the thermal images that slowly came into focus. They were undeniably the pack, Stiles and Derek nowhere to be seen, but the figures of Scott, Kira, Lydia, Malia, and Liam were heading _toward_ the building.

She tried to hide the way her heart leapt into her throat, snapped her eyes back to Ricardo in hopes that maybe, just maybe, she could push him over the edge before they all did something stupid. Kill her now so there would be no reason for her friends to come back. Mrs Márquez’s voice filled the tension-filled silence, her words shaking with her growing fear. “I told you she’d help us find the true alpha, didn’t I?” Ronnie’s eyes widened, breath caught and chocking her. The reaction brought a smile to Ricardo’s face. “That was the plan all along. Well, this might not have been what we wanted, but it worked. She brought the alpha straight to our doorstep.”

“Is that so?” Ricardo’s eyes dragged over Ronnie, her body tensing up, but she refused to let anything else be revealed. He shook his head, took a step closer. His fingers brushed across her arm, pulled the glass out, tearing her skin further with the force. Blood gushed out of the wound, his eyes twinkling with something close to mirth only darker, more sinister than any sort of joy. “I have to admit, Ronda, I’m impressed.

The glass fell to the floor, echoed throughout the room. No one said a word, their eyes flickering between Ricardo and Ronnie, holding their breaths as if they were anticipating the worst, and perhaps they had a reason to. Her arm still dripped with blood, the wound not healing anytime soon, and with the way he’d pulled out the shard, the force of which he did it, was just enough to slit her wrists, perfectly cut her veins in a way that she could bleed out from. Still, she held her ground, glared at him with her teeth sinking into her bottom lip in an attempt to hold back a bubbling snicker.

 _Insane,_ she thought. She must be to stare down a man with his hand resting atop a gun, with a knife tucked away in his back pocket, with a lust for blood and death that put her past experiences to shame.

Her glare eased, she let her lips curl into a smile, her own eyes twinkling with amusement, and she silently dared Ricardo to do something. Surviving wasn’t a priority, not for her at least, and she knew the moment she turned away from the pack that she wouldn’t be around much longer, was certain of it when she fell in front of Ricardo, embraced it. There was no rule that said she couldn’t have a bit of fun before she died, right?

* * *

Lydia’s chest clenched as they walked through the door to the warehouse again, returning to a place that had more death than most of Beacon Hills. Her mind hadn’t stopped screaming since they pulled up, when her eyes laid on the stained glass, the design identical to one she’d seen before, grew louder with each passing second they were there. It wasn’t just the premonition, wasn’t just the way everything looked too familiar, or how she was able to pinpoint the exact location where she saw it all.

The building wasn’t only the place where she saw her friend’s death, but it was the place where hundreds of innocent lives were lost, all in the name of “cleansing the world of monsters”, and she felt that pain worse than anything before.

She knew the pack saw it, noticed the way she’d grown eerily silent as they walked through the building that first time, how her eyes glazed over. They kept glancing at her, eyes filled with worry. Even Malia who rarely showed any care for the state of others —excluding Stiles— would look back at her with a slight frown on her brows. Liam had taken permanent residence by her side when Ronnie moved to help with Derek, his shoulders tense and eyes calculating but reflecting that of a sad, desperate puppy.

He needed her comfort just as much as he felt the need to protect his pack, and she wasn’t sure which one made her feel worse, but she let him remain close, heart racing faster each time he wasn’t in her sight. She tried to hide the waves of nausea going through her doing a poor job at that, and the look that Scott sent her when Stiles and he finally got Derek to his feet told her he knew, probably the exact thoughts going through her head. Nausea got worse and she found herself leaning on Liam for a moment, his arm instinctively moving to help hold her up.

 _May 7 th_, her thoughts echoed. Every alarm went off. _Today_ , she realized, and all too quickly jostled out of her head, crashing into the present with a pained wince. Everyone was already on edge, worse when Ronnie ran off and disappeared into the dark, too quiet for even those with heightened hearing to catch. Malia remained calm as she dragged Liam out of the warehouse, the beta not even fighting against her as she repeated, insisted really, that “she’ll be fine”.

His eyes snapped to the banshee and his body went rigged. Lydia had to close her eyes. _He knew_. Maybe not exactly, not like Scott, but he knew something, and that was enough for the anger inside him to light up like a firecracker, his eyes flaring gold as he started to fight against Malia, claws scratching against her arms, her chest, anything he could reach. The werecoyote just held him tighter, something that resembled that of a motherly hold, protective and warm. Her own eyes turned icy and she glared over at Scott as if to say _do something_.

Scott squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and with a deep breath, moved to do whatever it was he could. Nothing was working, Lydia knew nothing would, and the frown that took over Kira told her the kitsune knew the same. His anger grew stronger, and Lydia had to turn away again. She couldn’t watch this anymore, not if there was even the slightest chance hat her vision was right.

She turned around, focused on the jeep behind her where Stiles fussed over Derek, the scene captivating enough to distract her. It wasn’t much better than what Scott and Malia were trying to handle, but she could breathe easier as Stiles swatted at Derek. The older wolf growled up at him, got another swat on one of the few spaces he wasn’t gravely injured, minor bruising. Stiles mumbled under his breath, something about how stupid Derek is, even referred to him as a damsel to which Derek responded with flared eyes.

Lydia looked over the two boys, tried to focus on how there were no injuries on Stiles. The ones on Derek certainly weren’t good but whatever it was Ronnie had done helped enough to speed up the process for him to heal. Slowly, but better than nothing. Her mind provided clear images of what she’d seen, mirrored them on Stiles, her breath catching as his skin slowly became littered with cuts and bruises, blood drying under the rising sun.

It flashed back to that scene —had been all day— tried to focus on any details that she could find, something that could tell her when this happened and how to stop it. Their clothes weren’t the same, she noted, not that they always were in the past, but she was desperate, grasping for straw, anything that could give her a smidge of comfort. She knew this was the place where it all went down, one of the many reasons she quickly jumped in when they were trying to decide how to get Ronnie out, demanded that Stiles go with Derek and get him to Melissa.

One less life to worry about, she told herself, but Lydia Martin was no fool. She knew it was more than that, how her chest ached at the mere thought of anything happening to either of those boys, how it was worse than when she thought of the others. Now wasn’t the time to think that over, she wasn’t ready for that realization, and pushed it to the back of her thoughts. The pack needed her at her best, Liam more than the others, so she moved to stand beside the beta, let him rest his head on her shoulder while they went over the plan, traced shapes on his back in hopes of keeping his senses awake. He couldn’t shut down, not with everything at stake.

They walked deeper into the corridor, the rising sun blocked from them, providing no light inside the warehouse, and the lycanthropes flared their eyes to act as makeshift flashlights. Lydia used her phone, held it in front of her as she walked beside Liam. The two took up the rear with Scott and Malia in the front, Kira behind them.

There were others inside, the hunters finally arriving for this event Ronnie told them little about. Liam managed to find a minimum of nine, five of them in the same room as Ronnie, the rest scattered throughout the building. _Third floor_ , he’d said, and so they headed that way. Lydia tried to look around, find anything that might tell her when this would happen, more than just knowing it was today. She had no luck, tried to get them to avoid the room with the large stained-glass window.

When it first came to her she’d told them what she’d seen, tried to remember any of the details that someone might find useful. Scott puzzled on it, Stiles tried to connect any dots that he could, but in the end, they came back just as clueless as before. They were missing something, had to be. What was the point of having these premonitions if she couldn’t do anything to stop them? She tried to do what the boys said, clear her mind so she could think clearly, but they didn’t see the blood, how it stained the ground, their skin, the way their eyes looked so… _dead_.

She wasn’t sure what compelled her to do it, her hand shooting up, pressing against Liam’s chest, and pushing him backwards, only that whatever it was acted as a warning. For what, she didn’t know, but it left a foul taste in her mouth. Her eyes were wide, heart racing, and despite her effort to push him away, Liam found a way to hang on, focused on her as if she were the one about to be hurt and not the pack.

A scream was bubbling in her throat, painfully strong, and she could feel it rise. It didn’t come out, stayed burning inside her. She opened her mouth almost expectantly, like she knew it was going to happen, but nothing came out. Her hand clutched around her neck, and she could barely hear the broken, weak voice that called out for Scott. _Liam_. His voice cracked when he called again, louder this time, bordering on a scream himself.

Her fingers twitched as she tried to assure him she was fine, but she couldn’t speak. She gasped for air, the scream torching her throat as it lodged itself inside. The alpha was at her side, replaced Liam’s hand with his own, and the beta jumped backwards as if he had been scorched, gave room for Scott to look her over. Malia stood beside him, Kira to her left, and faced Liam. “Is she having one of those… banshee vision, things?” Liam couldn’t even shrug, the movement coming out as more of a painful wince. “Scott, what’s going on?”

“I’m not sure.” He admitted, tucked her hair behind her ears. She calmed at his warm touch, felt the scream ease down to an ache. “What happened?” Liam moved further away, painfully washed out, and it hit her that he wasn’t just taking a step back to give space; he was cowering. Scott flinched, must have noticed too, and he frowned, turned back to Lydia. “Can you move anything?” _Yes,_ she managed to nod, wished she could tell him it was just her voice that wasn’t working, how she feared that if she tried it would come out as a scream. “Okay, that’s good. That’s really good.”

“Someone’s coming.” Kira hissed out, jumped over to Liam in a protective stance. The beta flinched but didn’t move away.

Malia looked over her shoulder, eyes narrowing, and she sucked in a breath. “She’s right, we need to go.”

“Alright.” Scott breathed out, took Lydia’s hand. “We’re going to be okay.” He tried to assure her. She didn’t believe him, couldn’t with the way the scream cut her open. His eyes saddened, but he gave a nod, turned to look at the others. “Kira, I need you to stay with Liam.” Lydia’s eyes widened, opened her mouth to protest, but Scott cut her off. “I’m not saying we’re splitting up,” —she relaxed a bit— “but I think I might have an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Language, violence


End file.
